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In Search of an Unknown Race 




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IN SEARCH OF AN 
UNKNOWN RACE 


BY 

FRANK H. CONVERSE 

• I 

AUTHOR OF 

“ THB GOLD OF FLAT TOP MOUNTAIN," ‘ ‘ IN SOUTHERN SEAS, 
“THE MYSTERY OF A DIAMOND," “THAT TREASURE," ETC. 




NEW YORK 

STREET & SMITH 

PUBLISHERS 


9i 


n . — 


thf ljdrary of 
CONGRESS, 

Two Copies Received 

NOV, 4 1901 

COPVBIOHT FNTRV 

h^o. &— i c\ ot 

CLASS RxXXa No. 

%t> lA-Zq 

COPY A. 


*T 2 p i 
.O'] < 0^1 


Copyright, 1891, 

By UNITED STATES BOOK CO. 

Copyright, 1901. 

By STREET & SMITH 


* 

o 


« *> 


IN SEARCH OF AN UNKNOWN RACE. 


I 


CHAPTER I. 

A MESSAGE FROM THE UNKNOWN LAND. 

The schooner Rattler lay at an outside berth of a 
Boston wharf ready to sail on the following morning. 
In the snug cabin below, Captain Josh Peterson, a 
squarely-built, middle-aged seaman, with a resolute 
weather-beaten face, had just shaken hands, for at least 
the third time, with a manly-looking young fellow in 
his seventeenth year, who had just come on board. 

Van Briscoe — for by this name will the hero of my 
story be known — was tall and sinewy for his years, 
with pleasant clear-cut features, a trifle bronzed by sea 
air. 

He had but that day arrived in Boston from New 
York, where for three years he had been on board the 
school ship St. Mary’s. He had paid a flying visit to 
one of the suburban towns close to Boston, where 


8 


VAN 


Captain Peterson’s maiden sister resided, and now had 
come aboard in accordance with an arrangement with 
the captain, who was his guardian. 

“Van,” said Captain Peterson, as he nervously drew 
a tin case from his desk, “ I — there’s something a — a — 
little out of the ordinary run of things to be talked 
over ” 

And checking himself abruptly, he stepped to the 
door which led to the outer cabin. There he listened, 
locked the door, and then, after glancing up the after 
companionway to make sure the slide was pulled over, 
returned to his seat at the table. 

“As you know, Van,” he commenced in a low tone, 
“the Rattler is bound for Para, in Brazil, and thence 
up the Amazon on a trading voyage.” 

Van assented. 

“You have heard me speak of your uncle, Richard 
Vance Briscoe,” Captain Peterson went on, “ your 
father’s twin brother, who sailed as passenger for San 
Francisco, in 1865, on board the Argonaut, afterward 
reported as lost on the Peruvian coast with all on 
board ? ” 

“That was the year before father died on the passage 
from the south coast of Africa,” replied Van a little 
irrelevantly. But the reference to the uncle he had 
never seen had suddenly suggested to his mind how 
utterly alone he was in the world. His mother had 
died at Van’s birth, his father (who had been a sea 
captain) was buried in mid-ocean, and, so far as he 
knew, Van had neither kith nor kin in the world. 

Without replying directly, Captain Peterson took from 
the tin case a letter written on bluish paper like parch- 


VAN. 


9 

ment, which exhaled a strange, spicy odor as he un- 
folded it. On the back of the sheet, Van saw the out- 
line of a map cleverly drawn in a sort of golden-tinted 
ink, and in one corner was the impress of a seal of 
singular design. A hand clasping a burning torch was 
encircled by a serpent holding the tip of its tail in its 
mouth — the ancients’ symbol of eternity. 

“A year ago this month,” began Captain Peterson 
nervously, “a big, sailorish-looking chap, who called 
himself Robert Martin, came aboard the Rattler with 
this letter, which was directed to Captain James Briscoe, 
your father, in care of Davis & Co. , ship brokers. Martin 
had been there with it, and they sent him to me, know- 
ing that I, as your father’s administrator, was his only 
representative excepting yourself. Martin had a re- 
markably strange story to tell that was fully corrobo- 
rated by the contents of this letter, which he left. Then, 
taking out his clasp knife, he ripped open the collar of 
his coarse flannel shirt, and, from at least a dozen 
diamonds of the purest water which he had sewed in 
the lining, selected the largest. ‘This goes with the 
letter — you’ll understand the whole thing when you 
come to read it,’ he said, and before I could stop him, 
Martin was gone. I’ve never set eyes on him since 
then,” said Captain Peterson, drawing a long breath, 
“though, for reasons you’ll soon understand, I would 
give a hundred dollars to-day to be able to lay my 
hand on Bob Martin.” 

“ But the letter,” eagerly exclaimed Van. “Who was 
it from ? what is it about ? ” 

“That’s what I’ve been coming at,” replied the cap- 
Cain, “and now if you’ll listen without interruption, 


10 


VAN . 


you’ll hear something that will astonish you, to say the 
least.” 

Thus premising, Captain Peterson cleared his throat, 
and, in a voice suggestive of repressed excitement, 
began : 

* ‘ City of Itambez, ) 

“ Province of Itambezi, Brazil, j 

“ Brother James, 

“ Of course you have thought of me as dead all these 
years. The bearer of this letter, Robert Martin, will 
tell you to the contrary. Whatever he says, no matter 
how incredible it may sound in your ears, you may 
implicitly believe. For reasons which you may some 
time understand, I am not allowed to explain how 
Martin and myself, the only survivors of the Argonaut, 
reached this region, hitherto unvisited by strangers, 
after terrible privation and suffering. Indeed, it is only 
through a special edict that I have been after all this 
time permitted to communicate with you through Mar- 
tin, who, very foolishly, has resolved to leave this 
wonderful city — but a sailor would grow tired of Para- 
dise itself in time. 

“Of the people of Itambez I am not allowed to say 
anything in this letter. Their history and character- 
istics must for the present remain a mystery to you as 
well as to the outside world. But regarding the wealth 
of the country I am permitted to say that it is simply 
fabulous. 

“Now, to come to the point. By a freak of fortune, 
I have risen to hold an important position in Itambez, 
through which I have been granted a favor unprece- 
dented in the city’s history, namely, to share with my 


VAAT. 


II 


kindred some of the great wealth which I have ac- 
cumulated, provided they ha - the coura gz to come here 
after it. In 4 his case, the only restrictions are these : 
Should you or any of yours decide to thus do, guided by 
the map drawn on the back of this letter and my brief 
instructions, such visitor will be allowed to bring two 
comrades (as alone, it would be impossible to reach 
the province of Itambezi) who must never reveal certain 
things which will come to their knowledge. 

“ The first part of the route traced out on the map is 
comparatively easy — being simply the ascent of the 
Amazon to its junction with the branch called the 
Uraria, connecting the Amazon with the Madeira. Mid- 
way of the branch the Canuma river enters it. Follow 
up the Canuma to the lake of the same name, into the 
further side of which flows the same Canuma, which 
rises among the Cordilleras. Whoever shall reach 
Canuma Lake bringing this letter, which has the im- 
print of the royal seal, has no further difficulty. His or 
their responsibility ceases, and such person or persons 
are taken in charge by others. 

“The stone that Martin will deliver with this letter is 
an earnest of my sincerity. He may show you others 
of his own as well. 

“Given at the council chamber in the eleventh month 
of the year 1884, under the authority of the Council of 
Seven. 

“Richard Vance Briscoe. 

During the reading of this most extraordinary mes- 
sage, Van’s face was a study. Curiosity, astonishment 
and incredulity in turns strove for the mastery. 


12 


VAN. 


“ It is the strangest thing I ever heard in all my life,” 
he exclaimed. “ But what do you think, Captain Peter- 
son?” 

“ What can I think otherwise than to believe the whole 
thing is just as you’ve heard it?” was the grave reply. 
“The letter is in your uncle’s own handwriting, which 
I could swear to anywhere, while everything it con- 
tains confirms Martin’s story.” 

But despite the captain’s assertion, no less than the 
written proof, Van’s practical, matter of fact nature 
could not take in all at once anything that bordered so 
closely upon the marvelous. 

“I’m not going to urge this thing, Van,” said Cap- 
tain Peterson, who seemed rather disappointed at the 
short silence that had followed his reply ; ‘ ‘ but between 
now and our arrival at Para I want you to think it over 
seriously, for it looks to me as though a fortune lies 
within your reach. But we won’t say any more to- 
night, for it’s getting late and we must be on deck 
bright and early.” 

Very soon Van found himself in his comfortable 
berth, but it was some time before slumber visited his 
eyelids. 

The singular revelation to which he had listened — 
the knowledge that his only relative, so long regarded 
as dead, was not only living but was a denizen of a 
mysterious country not unlike the fairyland of which 
he had read in boyhood, and the possibilities thus sug- 
gested, filled his mind to overflowing. 

Finally he fell asleep, to be roused at daybreak by 
Captain Peterson. “Now, then, Mr. Briscoe ! ” he said, 
and realizing that with his new prefix of “Mr.” his 


VAN. 


13 

duties as a vessel’s officer were to be taken up, Van 
hurried on deck. 

The morning was cold and gray, with a fierce north- 
west wind shrieking through the rigging. Muffled in 
their pilot coats the Rattler’s commander and his young 
officer moved about the decks, directing the men, who 
were taking off the sail covers and casting the stops 
from the stiff canvas. 

Most of the new crew had the collars of their ragged 
coats turned up and their shabby caps pulled well down, 
to protect their ears and faces from the biting cold ; so 
Van could not form a very good idea what manner of 
men they might be, with one exception. 

This was an almost gigantic negro with heavy, good- 
natured features, whose strength, as Van quickly per- 
ceived, was something almost incredible. He answered 
to the name of “Tom,” and when Van noticed him 
unaided lift the end of the kedge anchor forward to 
clear a line, he resolved if possible to have that man in 
his watch. 

Though a novice as far as holding office was con- 
cerned, Van was no greenhorn as to his duties. Six 
short voyages in the school ship had thoroughly posted 
him in the practical details of seamanship, and with 
Captain Peterson to give him points, he speedily began 
to gain confidence. He soon saw, too, that despite his 
youth, the crew recognized the fact that he was a first- 
rate sailor, and by no means backward in pulling and 
hauling with the rest when occasion required. 

By nightfall Cape Cod was being left astern. The 
decks were cleared up, everything made fast, and the 
crew mustered aft for choice of watches. Van took 


14 


VAM 


care to secure the negro Tom, who, with two other 
sailors, composed his watch. 

In the captain’s were Smith, a dwarfed fellow with 
immensely broad shoulders, long arms, and dispropor- 
tionately short legs, and an English sailor calling him- 
self Carson, while the third, who had shipped under the 
name of Bates, was a good-looking young man seem- 
ingly not much more than twenty years old. 

Strangely enough, Bates — if that was his real name 
— soon showed himself to be the smartest man in the 
crew. And not only that, but Van, who at once was 
interested in the young sailor’s appearance, noticed two 
curious things. 

His language at times suggested that he might have 
moved in very different society from that of a ship’s 
forecastle, yet perhaps in the next breath it would be 
replete with sailor slang and oaths. This was one. 

The other, that he was a sort of leader among his 
four shipmates. I say four, for the reason that the five 
white sailors had come on board in company, while the 
negro, Tom, had applied personally to Captain Peter- 
son for a berth in the Rattler after he learned her desti- 
nation. The others ignored their colored companion 
as far as possible and seemed to regard him with a cer- 
tain distrust. 

“ Rather a hard-looking set — all but that good-look- 
ing fellow in your watch, don’t you think, sir ? ” queried 
Van, as after all was made snug for the night, one 
watch was sent below, while Van and Captain Peterson 
stood on the quarter comparing nautical notes. 

“ If you’d been at sea as many years as I have,” re- 
turned the captain with a rather grim smile, “ you’d 


VAN. 


15 


think these a very fair average as sailors go nowadays. 
And in my way of thinking,” he added, lowering his 
voice a little, “ the good-looking chap is the worst-look- 
ing — there’s an evil spirit in his eye as big as the ship’s 
dog, to use a sailorism.” 

After a little further conversation Van went below for 
his first “ four hours in,” thus alternating with Captain 
Peterson through the twenty-four. 

Now this is not a sea story, the voyage of the Rattler 
being simply one of the links in the marvelous chain of 
experiences which Vance Briscoe was destined to meet 

So it will be sufficient tor me to say that with the 
usual alternations of storm and calm, fair winds and 
foul, the Rattler plowed steadily onward toward her 
destination. 

About ten o’clock in the evening of the twenty-ninth 
day out from Boston, the strong breeze which had 
followed the schooner for most of the voyage, suddenly 
died out, leaving her becalmed almost exactly on the 
imaginary line known as the equator, some fifty miles 
from the mouth of the River Para. 

But the important events which transpired while the 
schooner lay thus motionless, must be left for another 
chapter. 


i6 


VAN 


CHAPTER II. 

A MURDEROUS PLOT. 

During the whole voyage, Van had freely discussed 
the important question which was nearest Captain Peter- 
son’s heart, and had drawn from him all that Bob Mar- 
tin had told concerning Itambez and the high position 
to which Van’s uncle had attained. 

And after long pondering on the subject, he had fully 
made up his mind to undertake the strange enterprise. 

On the evening of the calm, Van was sitting on the 
taffrail, when Captain Peterson came on deck and 
called to him. 

Leading the way to the cabin, the captain drew from 
the head of his bertti a small but heavy tin trunk, which 
he placed on the table and unlocked. Lying on the top 
of its contents was a money belt of soft chamois skin, 
which he handed to Van, instructing him how to buckle 
it about him under his outside clothing. 

“ One never knows at sea what a day may bring 
forth, and it’s always best to be on the safe side,” he 
said lightly, in answer to Van’s look of surprise. 

The captain went on to explain that he had sold the 
diamond sent by Van’s uncle for seven thousand dol- 
lars. In a compartment of the money belt was the im- 
portant letter and a letter of credit on El Banco Na - 


tionale , of Para, for a thousand dollars, to be kept as a 
reserve fund for emergencies. The trunk itself con- 
tained the balance of the money in gold. 

Relocking the trunk, Captain Peterson turned to re- 
place it in his berth, when a slight noise at the open 
skylight overhead attracted the attention of both. 

Van sprang quickly up the after companion way steps, 
but nobody was in sight. The schooner not being un- 
der steerage way, there was no one at the wheel, and by 
the dazzling light of the full-orbed moon he could see 
the men gathered about the windlass forward. 

From the long main boom, swayed sluggishly to 
and fro by the lazy swells, hung one of the “ stops/’ 
which was dragged backward and forward across the 
cabin skylight. 

Satisfied that this was the origin of the sound they had 
heard Van was about to return to the cabin, when a 
faint puff of air fanned his cheek. 

“ Come aft here whoever’s wheel it is,” he called. 
One of the crew came shuffling along the deck, Van 
gave him the course, the sails were trimmed, and the 
Rattler began to move slowly through the smooth ex- 
panse. 

Returning to the cabin, Van informed Captain Peterson 
of the probable cause of the noise at the skylight. Then, 
it being his watch below, he kicked off his shoes and 
lay down on the outside of the berth mattress for his 
“ four hours in,” while Captain Peterson, after another 
glance at the coast chart, went on deck. 

Almost before he knew it, Van was sound asleep. 

A slight noise directly over his head, as of the sud- 
den shuffling of feet, partly roused him after he had 


slumbered rather over an hour. Raising himself on one 
elbow, he listened drowsily. 

Nothing w s heard but the monotonous creak of the 
main boom and '.he lapping sound of the water slip- 
ping past the schoon r': sides. Dropping back on his 
pillow, Van abandoned himself again to repose. 

“And I say the easiest course is round the Cape of 
Good Hope. I’ve had enough Cape Horn weather to 
last me a lifetime.” 

Good heavens, what was this ? 

The clear, well-modulated voice, slightly elevated 
above its usual pitch, which had suddenly aroused Van 
from sleep, was that of Bates, the good-looking young 
sailor. What was he doing in the Rattler's cabin? To 
whom could he be speaking in tones of such decisive 
authority ? 

Parting the berth curtains. Van peered quickly out. 

Bending over the chart, which lay open on the table, 
was Bates himself, while close at his side stood Smith, 
the dwarfed sailor, tracing a certain course on the same 
chart with the end of his dirty forefinger. 

With fearful forebodings of evil, Van glanced to- 
ward the gun rack about the mainmast. It was empty, 
and Captain Peterson’s revolver was also missing from 
its usual place. 

“Well, I think I'd orter have some say in the 'range- 
men t,” growled Smith, “seein’s I've done nigh all the 
work.” 

“ Indeed ! ” sneered the other. “ May I ask in what 
way?” he inquired with ceremonious politeness con- 
trasting curiously with the ominous frown which 
darkened his features. 


van. 


“How?” sullenly echoed Smith; “you know well 
enough ’thout askin’. Direc’ly I found out about the 
schooner, and that she was wantin’ a crew, didn’t I 
hunt you and the other three up, jest fer the reason we 
was together in t’other affair and I knowed there wasn't 
one of us as would stick at anything where there was a 
chance of makin’ a big divvy ” 

‘ ‘ That’s enough — ixomyou ! ” interrupted Bates ; and 
Smith, who evidently held his younger companion in 
wholesome awe, shrank back before the latter’s fierce 
look. 

“What you’ve done is well enough as far as it goes,” 
continued Bates, with an entire change of manner; 
“ but you forget ” 

“You’ve woke up the mate,” sourly interrupted the 
dwarfed sailor, who, looking suddenly up, had seen 
Van’s face looking out between the berth curtains. 

“Why, so I have,” said Bates in a tone of easy as- 
surance, turning without the slightest show of embar- 
rassment toward Van. The latter instantly slipped 
from the berth. 

“What does this all mean?” he demanded, calling 
up all his self-command to meet what he instinctively 
knew to be a terrific emergency. “Where is Captain 
Peterson, and what right have you two in the cabin 
here ? ” 

“ I am sorry to say,” coolly replied Bates, in a mock- 
ing tone, “that Captain Peterson accidentally fell over 
the rail and instantly sank, in the middle watch. So 
thinking that you, Mr. Briscoe, are rather too young for 
such a responsibility, I’ve decided to take charge my- 
self, with the full concurrence of my four shipmates.” 


20 


VAN . 


His four shipmates ! Then at least, Tom, the negro, 
was not in the plot— for that it was a plot the conver- 
sation to which Van had just listened had already- 
assured him. 

“ You are lying,” he said with a coolness which sur- 
prised even himself. “If Captain Peterson is missing, 
you have murdered him and thrown his body over the 
side.” 

“ You’ll have hard work to prove it,” returned Bates, 
as cool as ever. 

“Let me go on deck,” said Van, hoarsely. “ Stand 
out of the way, you infernal scoundrel ! ” he fiercely ex. 
claimed, as the dwarfed sailor placed his muscular hand 
on the boy’s shoulder to stop him. 

“ You stop where you be ! ” said Smith. 

Scarcely had the words escaped his lips when Van, 
swinging himself free, planted a crushing blow between 
the sailor’s eyes, sending him headlong to the floor. 

Springing past Bates, who seemed rather amused 
than otherwise at his companion’s discomfiture, Van 
ran up the companionway, while Smith, breathing out 
fierce oaths of vengeance, picked himself up and rushed 
into the little lavatory to apply water to his bruised and 
bleeding nose. 

In a state of mind hardly to be described, the young 
officer glanced hastily about the deck. Captain Peter- 
son’s familiar form was nowhere in sight, and a groan 
escaped Van’s lips as the truth of the assertion he had 
uttered in the cabin forced itself upon his mind. 

The three other members of the gang of conspirators 
were laughing and talking loudly on the deck. They 
had routed out the steward, who, in a state of the most 


VAN. 


21 


abject terror, had set three tumblers and a bottle of 
brandy before them on the head of the capstan, about 
which the villainous trio had gathered. 

With a gesture of despair, Van turned to the wheel, 
where the gigantic negro was standing. Tom had only 
just come on deck. He knew nothing of the mutiny, 
or of the disappearance of Captain Peterson, and did 
not seem to understand the situation. 

As Van faced him, Tom placed his fingers on his 
thick lips and motioned in the direction of the open 
companionway, at which the voices from the cabin be- 
low were plainly discernible. 

“ I tell you,” Bates was saying, “it shan't be done. 
The young fellow has always treated us decently, and 
I’m not going to have him chucked over the side, to 
please you or anybody else, without there's need for it." 

Van had heard enough. With a sickening sensation 
of loathing and dread, he turned from the companion- 
way. Oh, if he only had some sort of weapon ! 

Almost as though divining his thoughts the negro, 
glancing swiftly about him, placed his huge black paw 
into the breast of his ragged shirt, and withdrawing it 
quickly, thrust into Van's hand one of those clumsy yet 
effective weapons known as “British bulldogs." 

With a thrill of joy, Van hastily concealed the pistol, 
the possession of which gave him a certain sense of 
security. 

“But you, Tom," he whispered. 

The negro grinned significantly. 

“ I look out for myself — don' you be 'fraid,” he mut- 
tered, as Bates, followed by the dwarfed seaman, came 
up the companionway steps. 


22 


VAN. 


“I think — a — Briscoe,” began Bates, familiarly, “ that 
under all the circumstances, you had better take your 
traps for’ard to the forecastle. Mr. Smith here will act 
as my mate till further notice, and sleep aft in the berth 
you have used. 

“No words,” he added, sharply, as Van began to 
utter an indignant protest. “ I’m master of this vessel 
now ! ” 

“ And I’m the mate,” coarsely put in Smith, as the 
self-appointed captain descended to the main deck. 

“Confound you,” snarled Smith, addressing Van as 
soon as Bates was out of hearing; “ if I don’t make 
this here a hot ship for you after this, my name ain’t — 
ain’t wot it is , ” he said, suddenly checking himself. 
“ And you, you ugly nigger — ” turning fiercely to Tom, 
who had taken a step forward as though in defense of 
Van — “none of your savage looks — git back to yer 
place — d’ye hear?” 

Perhaps if the new mate had not attempted to enforce 
his authority by a blow, the remark might have passed 
unnoticed. 

As it was, Smith had mistaken his man. For with a 
deep guttural utterance like that of a wild beast, the 
negro seized the sailor in his powerful grasp, and lifting 
him off his feet as though he had been a child, dashed 
him heavily against the lee rail. 

At the same moment Bates, who had turned at the 
sound of the scuffle, sprang with one leap on the quarter. 
Seeing his trusty lieutenant lying stunned and bleeding 
on the deck, he drew Captain Peterson’s revolver, 
pointed it directly at the negro’s head, and fired ! 


VAN 


22 


CHAPTER III. 

van’s flight from the rattler. 

Now Van’s athletic training had made him a proficient 
in those exercises where thought, eye, and hand must 
move at one and the same time. 

There was no opportunity for hesitation or deliberating 
on the right and wrong of his action. 

As the new master of the Rattler leveled Captain 
Peterson’s revolver at the negro’s head, Van, wheeling 
like lightning, drew the weapon given him by Tom, 
threw it forward and pulled the trigger. 

The two reports were almost simultaneous, but with 
very different effect. 

The ball from the revolver in Bates’s hand flew wide of 
its mark, and the weapon itself dropped to the deck. 
The ball from the clumsy bulldog had passed through 
the fleshy part of the mutineer’s arm and diverted his 
aim. 

Uttering a suppressed cry, he stepped back, a little too 
far. His heel caught against a ring bolt, and he fell 
heavily from the break of the quarter to the main deck. 

Before he recovered his feet, or those on deck could 
overcome their utter astonishment, the quick-witted 
negro saw a possible chance of escape. Striding over 


24 


VA2V. 


the prostrate form of Smith, Tom seized Van by the 
shoulder, while the schooner, with no one at the wheel, 
came flying- up in the wind. 

“Quick — inter de launch ! ” he hurriedly exclaimed, 
jumping at the same moment from the main channels 
into the towing boat. 

Van seized Captain Peterson’s revolver from the deck 
where it had fallen, and thrusting it into his pocket, 
sprang at a bound, into the launch. 

Slashing the painter with his sheath knife, the negro 
pushed the boat clear of the schooner, as the voice of 
Bates rose above the confusion. 

“ Hard over the wheel, Smith, if you’ve got sense 
enough left in that thick skull of yours ! Flatten in the 
head sheets ! Trim down the fore sheet — so — that will 
do ! Now, meet her with the helm ! ” 

While he was thus thundering out order after order, 
Tom and Van were cutting loose the mast, sail, and 
rudder from their lashings under the thwarts, and in an 
incredibly short time the launch was running before the 
steady breeze. 

The moon was obscured by drifting clouds, and the 
haze indicative of their nearness to the shore was be- 
ginning to rise from the surface of the water. But that 
the launch could still be seen from the Rattler’s deck 
was evident from the sharp fusillade which suddenly 
followed as the vessel wore round and started in full 
pursuit. 

“ She sail two foot to our one — not’ing sabe us now 
but gale ob wind, Mist’ Briscoe,” said the negro, shak- 
ing his head. 

Van made no reply. He knew that if the launch was 


VAN. 


25 

overtaken, neither could hope for any mercy from the 
infuriated wretches on board the Rattler 1 

On flew pursuer and pursued, and as the waning 
moon grew dim, the flush and glow of coming dawn 
began lighting up sea and sky. 

The schooner was now so near that escape seemed 
impossible, yet the launch held steadily on. 

Suddenly the misshapen form of Smith, armed with 
one of the carbines, appeared in the bows of the 
schooner, now not half a cable’s length astern. 

Steadying himself against the fore stay, he raised the 
weapon to his shoulder and seemed to take careful 
aim. 

But the anticipated shot was never fired. All at once 
they saw Smith drop the carbine and disappear. The 
sound of a sudden order was borne by the breeze to 
their ears, and in another moment the schooner had 
hauled her wind, and, with sheets flattened in, was 
standing off to the south and east, instead of following 
the launch in hot pursuit. 

“ What does it mean ? ” exclaimed Van, starting ex- 
citedly to his feet, but as he did so, he saw directly 
ahead a long line of boiling, tossing, turbulent foam ! 

‘ ‘ Breakers! Breakers , Tom!” he shouted in great 
alarm, but to his astonishment Tom steered directly 
toward them. 

“Don’ be scart, Mist’ Briscoe — I pilot too many 
steamer round Para and Amazon to mind dem kind o' 
breakers,” he said, as the launch went pitching and 
yawing directly through the creamy surges into com- 
paratively smooth water beyond. 

And then Tom went on to explain that what not only 


26 


VAM 


Van but those on board the Rattler had mistaken for 
breaking surf was simply the outcoming flood from the 
mouth of the Amazon meeting, miles from the shore, 
with the incoming current. 

Over a sea of turbid mud-colored water the launch 
sped on toward the land, which was now not more 
than forty miles distant. 

It was no wonder that Van, thoroughly depressed 
and cast down at the sudden ending of a voyage which 
had promised so much sat gloomily by himself on one 
of the thwarts, with his face buried in his hands. 

Tom seemed to accept the situation with the easy 
philosophy of his race. 

4 ‘Six knot current wid dis spring flood,’' he said as 
though talking to himself, “and strong trade wind 
ought bring us well into Para ribber by noon — den Para 
sixty mile furder up. ” 

“Didn’t I hear you say something about being a 
pilot round these parts, Tom ? ” asked Van, shaking off 
some of his despondency as he listened to the negro’s 
utterance. 

Yes — Tom had mentioned it And further ques- 
tioning drew from him that for two successive years, 
tempted by the higher wages offered him, he had been 
in a small steamer running on the Amazon and Para 
rivers. 

Van’s mind was grappling with a new and sudden 
hope. 

Exposing the money belt about his waist, he turned 
back the flap of one of the compartments, from which 
he took his uncle's letter. 

fi Spreading it face down on one of the thwarts, Van 


VAN'. 


2 ? 

pointed to the mighty Amazon, calling it by name. At 
this Tom’s eye brightened and he nodded understand- 
ingly as tracing along with his forefinger Van indicated 
successively the southern branches — the Tocantins, 
Xingu, Tapajos and Madeira. 

“ Me know ’em all,” said Tom, eagerly, “ and here ” 
— nearly obliterating the Uraria — “little branch wid 
big ribber jiat comes from way off ’mong de big snow 
mountains, where they say big city full peoples what 
nebber dies, an’ hab housefuls ob gol’ and dimuns and 
sech like.” 

“Why hasn’t any one ever tried to find this wonder- 
ful city ? ” asked Van with affected carelessness, though 
considerably exercised at hearing this rather exaggerated 
corroboration of what he already knew. 

“Nebber can cross dem mountains,” replied the 
negro. “ Dey make big chain right roun’ de city like 
dis — ” and Tom described an irregular circle with his 
finger. 

Further questioning showed that Tom had heard the 
story of Itambez, the treasure city, from a dozen differ- 
ent sources since he began piloting on the Amazon and 
its tributaries, and curiously enough it was religiously 
believed by all who had ever mentioned it in his 
hearing. 

Forgetful of heat, hunger, despondency, and even for 
the time of the tragedy of the night, Van, returning the 
letter to his belt, sat buried in deep thought. 

He had a bill of exchange for a thousand dollars in 
his possession. Tom was a river pilot equal in strength 
and endurance to two ordinary men. 

Why could he not engage Tom to accompany him. 


28 


VAN. 


and undertake the expedition, despite its seeming im- 
possibility ? Others had failed, but he had promises of 
help from unknown sources, and apart from the possi- 
bilities of its results, the journey through an unexplored 
country could not fail of being fraught with exciting 
interest 


VAN. 


29 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE SEAL OF ITAMBEZ, 

With wind and tide in its favor, the launch sped rap- 
idly along the low lying southern shore of the wide 
Para river. It was past mid-day when on rounding an 
abrupt bend in the stream the city of Para came into 
full view. 

Half an hour later, the little vessel was lying near 
the damp and slippery steps in the shadow of the old 
stone custom-house. 

“Well, Mist’ Briscoe,” said the negro, standing erect 
in the boat and stretching his cramped limbs, while Van 
gazed about him in bewilderment at the abrupt transi- 
tion from the solitude of the sea to the animated scene 
before him ; “ we got here — now what ? ” 

“Tom,” abruptly replied Van, withdrawing his gaze 
from the novel scene, “ how much pay do you have 
on board the river steamers ? ” 

“'Bout forty milreis (twenty dollars) for mont’,” 
was the indifferent reply. 

“I’ll give you twenty-five dollars a month to go up 
the river with me as far as the Canuma— and perhaps 
further,” said Van, without going into any explanation. 

“ You goin* up ribber, Mist' Briscoe ? ” exclaimed 
the negro in great astonishment— “wha* for — you hab’ 
no goods for trade—” 


3 ° 


VAN-, 


** Well,” interrupted Tom, “ for one thing, I want to 
see something of this new country, and then I’ve got 
something else in prospect that perhaps I’ll tell you 
about later on. I’ll furnish everything we want for 
such an undertaking,” he added, as the negro stood 
scratching his woolly pate with an expression of almost 
ludicrous astonishment. 

Seeing that the manly-looking sunburned young fel- 
low before him was in earnest, Tom pursed up his thick 
lips and began to whistle in a thoughtful sort of way. 

“Two can’t get along wid dis hebby boat noway. 
S’pose I ’gree to go, mebbe we can swap him for lighter 
one ? ” returned the negro, inquiringly, and Van knew 
that Tom would accompany him. 

“Very good,” he answered ; and then after a little 
thought he went on : 

“Now while I go up town and see about getting a 
bill of exchange cashed, you, Tom, look round and see 
what sort of a bargain you can drive with some of these 
fellows for such a boat as we want in exchange for the 
launch. I’ll be back before very long, and then we can 
see about provisioning her.” 

“Bueno,” was the concise response, and leaving Tom, 
who spoke the language with considerable fluency, to 
his own devices, Van ran up the custom-house steps. 

So many strange and novel objects arrested his atten- 
tion on the way up town, that he had barely time to get 
his bill of exchange cashed, before the great doors of the 
bank were closed for the day. Through the aid of an 
interpreter, Van succeeded in obtaining two Bank of 
England notes for fifty pounds each. These he replaced 
in his money belt as a reserve for future emergencies 


VAN-. 


31 

The remaining five hundred dollars he took partly in 
Mexican dollars, a little gold, and partly in the greasy 
looking milreis and half milreis notes which with some 
nickel coins constitute the ordinary currency. 

Van's next act was to make his way to the principal 
business street, and having found a store where English 
in a broken form was spoken, he proceeded to buy and 
put on clothing better adapted to the climate than that 
which he had been wearing. 

Returning to the pier, Van found that Tom had made 
good use of his time. 

After considerable chaffering, he had succeeded in 
exchanging the launch with a Portuguese river trader 
for a nearly new baielaos about twenty-five feet long, 
with mast, sail and paddles, together with a charcoal 
brazier in a pan of sand and a few utensils of the 
simplest kind. 

The boat was hollowed from a cedar log. It was 
of quite broad beam, shallow draught, having no keel, 
and a spoon shaped bow and stern, and was steered 
by a broad-bladed paddle working in a notch. Amid- 
ships was the cabin — open at both ends, with an arching 
roof covered with rawhide, which was perfectly water- 
tight. Under this were kept the stores and bedding — 
a mosquito curtain of coarse cotton being arranged so 
as to cover the opening at night. 

Tom had received a hundred milreis as “ boot” be- 
tween the two boats, and was immensely pleased when 
Van made him a present of ten milreis for his services 
in conducting the bargain. Together they returned to 
the business street, where the negro’s advice and assist- 
ance in purchasing the needed supplies was invaluable, 


VAN ; 


32 

to say nothing of his help in getting things at something 
like their approximate value from the crafty Portuguese 
trader. 

A plentiful supply of coffee, pilot bread, sardines, 
onions and the various smaller groceries were obtained 
first of all. Next, Van succeeded in purchasing a stout 
double breech-loading gun for himself and a single one 
of the same caliber for Tom’s use, with a supply of 
cartridges. 

Some fishing tackle, matches in a watertight case, a 
pocket compass, a couple of hunting knives and two 
leather haversacks containing a few other serviceable 
articles were also bought. Then, having procured bed- 
ding, some needed articles of clothing, a pith helmet and 
a coarse straw hat for each, together with stout canvas 
leggins and walking shoes, Van dispatched the whole to 
the boat in a small cart, under the escort of Tom, while 
he lingered behind to make some trifling purchases. 

Having finished his trading, he was making his way 
leisurely down the shady side of the street, and gazing 
at the throng of sunburned Brazilians around him, when 
he was accosted by a tall, powerfully built fellow, evi- 
dently an American sailor. 

The man’s clothes were shabby, but he had a frank 
and pleasant expression ; and Van, glad to recognize a 
fellow countryman among the crowds of foreign faces, 
returned his greeting not without warmth. 

“ I suppose you belong aboard one of the American 
vessels lying in the stream ? ” said the sailor inquiringly, 
as they passed into the public square. 

“Well, not exactly,” replied Van, laughing ; “though 
I do belong on board a boat lying near the custom- 


PAM 


S3 

house steps. But we leave Para for up river on the 
midnight flood. ” And crossing the square, the two 
turned down the street leading to the custom house. 

“Come down and have supper aboard my boat," 
added Van, cordially, and from the eagerness with 
which the offer was accepted, he fancied the sailor had 
not fared very sumptuously through the day. 

“Are you — is it a trading boat you speak of?” sud- 
denly asked the stranger with ill concealed eagerness, 
as though a sudden thought had occurred to him. 

“Why — no,” replied Van, who hardly knew how to 
explain. “Perhaps I might call myself a sort of ex- 
plorer on a small scale,” he said smiling; “at least 
that is part of my errand up the Amazon ” 

“How far up?” inquired his companion, with the 
same eagerness. 

“Oh, nearly as far as the Madeira, evasively an- 
swered Van ; “ but of course it all depends how we get 
along, for it’s a new business to me, and I’ve only got 
one other with me — a negro who used to be pilot on a 
river steamer. ” 

The sailor’s eyes lit up with something like hope. 

“I’ve been ashore here over two months,” he said, 
speaking very quickly and rather excitedly, “trying to 
get a chance up river to — to a certain point, and you’re 
the first man I’ve met who is going above the Tocantins. 
Will you let me work my passage with you as far as 
you go ? ” 

Van was so taken by surprise at the very unexpected 
question, that he did not reply at once. In fact he hardly 
knew what to say. There was plenty of room for a 
third person, and without doubt he could be of great 
assistance. But 


34 


VAN. 


“Well, come aboard, and I’ll talk with you,” he said 
— for by this time they had reached the custom-house 
quay. 

The stranger silently descended the half ruined steps 
behind Van, and in a few moments he was sitting in the 
stern with his young host. Tom filled a couple of bowls 
with savory soup which he had prepared over the 
brazier, and brought them aft. 

As they progressed with the meal Van found himself 
becoming a good deal interested in the strange, shabby 
sailor. All attempts to draw him out failed. Whatever 
his secret, he guarded it well, and was careful not to 
make known why he was so anxious to get up the river. 
However, Van was conscious of a growing liking for 
him, notwithstanding his mysterious manner, and at 
length he decided to take him on board, to the sailor’s 
evident delight. 

Preparations for starting were made, and as the 
cathedral clock rang out the hour of midnight, the little 
boat shot out of the bay, to take advantage of the flood 
tide. The broad island studded channel connecting the 
Para with the Amazon was threaded in safety, and on 
the following forenoon the light boat had fairly entered 
on her voyage up the mighty river. 

Now Van had decided that while as first officer of the 
Rattler “Mr. Briscoe” was all well enough as a matter 
of form, he was rather too young to be thus addressed 
in general conversation. So he had instructed Tom to 
call him “Mr. Van” or “Mr. Vance,” as he pleased, 
and in this way the sailor himself had adopted the same 
title. 

But it so happened that a few days after leaving Para, 


VAN. 


35 

Van, for the first time, brought out his substitute for a 
chart and laid it open before him. 

“Another twenty-four hours ought to bring us into the 
Uraria according to my reckoning,” he said, after making 
a scale measurement with a strip of paper. 

“And de Canuma flow inter de Uraria 'bout half way 
from its mouth, eh, Mist’ Briscoe — I mean Mist' 
Vance,’’ responded the negro, correcting himself 
quickly. 

“ Mr. — who ? ” exclaimed the sailor, as he looked sud- 
denly up from the gunlock he was oiling. 

It was so very unusual for him to betray the slightest 
signs of either curiosity or surprise that Van was amazed 
at his excited tone, and briefly explained the matter. 

The other opened his lips, but whether to comment 
or question is uncertain. For at the moment his gaze 
fell upon the back of the letter, which Van was refolding 
preparatory to returning it to place. 

Instantly a curious ashy pallor overspread the sailor’s 
face. Coming forward, he touched the impress of the 
peculiar seal on the back of the letter with a finger that 
trembled visibly. 

“Why — what is it? ” asked Van in extreme bewilder- 
ment. 

Instead of answering, the sailor threw open the front 
of his coarse linen shirt. 

With an astonishment greater than can be imagined, 
Van saw neatly tattooed in peculiar coloring on the 
sailor’s brawny chest the exact counterpart of the seal on 
the letter l 


VAN. 


CHAPTER V. 

THE VOYAGERS ON THE RIVER. 

As Van gazed in amazement at the strange marks 
upon the breast of the sailor, a sentence from his 
uncle’s letter, which by this time he knew nearly by 
heart, recurred to his mind. 

“ He bears the sign of the Order whose seal is the 
same as that stamped upon this letter.” 

‘‘Good Heavens!” he gasped; “it isn’t possible — 
that you are Robert Martin ? ” 

“So I was christened, but I’m so taken back as 
hardly to be sure who I am,” was the dazed reply. 
“And you — your name is Briscoe,” he went on. “ So 
I suppose ” 

“Read this,” briefly interrupted Van, who could 
hardly believe the evidence of his eyes and ears. As 
he thus spoke he extended his uncle’s missive, which 
Martin took in an amazement too great for words, and 
read from beginning to end. 

“I thought I never should be surprised at anything 
again,” said the sailor; “but this beats me out and 
out. Will you kind of clear it up ? ” he went on, 
staring at Van in a confused sort of way, while Tom in 
the stern looked from one to the other in open-eyed 
bewilderment. 


VAN. 


37 


As Van at once began a full explanation of the whole 
matter, Martin gradually recovered his usual quiet, self- 
contained manner. 

“ It’s all plain sailing enough now I begin to under- 
stand it,” he said, tugging thoughtfully at his heavy 
beard ; “that is, all but this running across each other 
as we’ve done.” 

Little by little, and rather shame-facedly, Bob Martin 
told the whole story. How one of the penalties of 
leaving Itambez was that in place of the easier route 
known to its head men he was compelled to make his 
way overland through more than a thousand miles of 
unexplored territory, across the Peruvian boundaries to 
the coast. After almost incredible privations and hard- 
ships he succeeded in reaching Callao, more dead than 
alive, and from thence the American consul sent him 
on board the ship Springhaven, which was loading at 
the Chinchas. 

But when he finally reached New England, after an 
absence of some fifteen years, Martin found no one to 
welcome him at his old home on the cape. His parents 
were no longer living, so, drifting back to the city, he 
literally and figuratively fell among thieves, who man- 
aged in less than a year to get possession of the little 
fortune realized from the sale of his Itambez diamonds. 

Then it was that he made up his mind to return to 
itambez, desperate as seemed the undertaking. 

“Before I left there it was predicted that I should 
come back sooner or later,’’ he said quietly; “and I 
knew if I could only reach Para the way would open 
somehow, and you see I was right.” 

“As it so happened — yes/’ returned Van, with an in- 


VAN. 


3* 

credulous shoulder shrug. “Whoever made the pre- 
diction, as you call it,” he went on, as Martin remained 
silent, “was safe enough, for if Itambez is the paradise 
that Uncle Richard represents, a man would naturally 
want to get back to it as soon as possible. ” 

“ Wait till you see for yourself,” was the quiet reply, 
and then, though guardedly, the sailor began answering 
the numberless questions which Van had to ask, while 
Tom, who gradually seemed to comprehend something 
of the real drift of Van’s undertaking, listened with 
eager attention. 

“ Did you ever hear my uncle express any wish to 
return to his own country? ” asked Van among other 
things. 

Bob Martin hesitated a moment before replying. 

“If he ever hinted at anything of the kind,” he 
finally answered, “ it was entirely on account of his 
daughter Ninada. I think he would have liked her to 
have certain advantages that she can’t have even in 
Itambez.” 

“ His daughter ! ” echoed Van, in great astonishment. 
“ Why ” 

“ Your uncle married one of the most beautiful 
women in the city, who died when Ninada was born,” 
gravely interrupted Martin. 

Here was news indeed ! With an uncle and a cousin 
living, Van was not so alone in the world as he had 
thought. 

“Is — is Ninada pretty?” asked Van, rather diffi- 
dently. 

“She is even handsomer than her mother,” returned 
Martin, “and as good as she is beautiful, and that’s 
Saying considerable,” 


VAN. 


39 


Further explanations followed. The sailor’s reason 
for trying to reach Itambez by the river route instead 
of by the longer and far more dangerous overland 
journey was simply this : 

The Canuma River, which rose among the western 
Cordilleras, flowed directly through the city of Itambezi 
Far outside the city limits it entered a canyon among 
the encircling mountains, and thence made its way to 
Canuma Lake, from which another branch flowed 
directly into the Uraria. 

Trading boats were constantly ascending the Amazon 
to its junction with the Uraria, and once he got a 
passage thus far he felt sure of accomplishing the rest 
of the journey, hazardous as such an undertaking 
might seem. 

And now their future destination, which all along 
had seemed to have an air of unreality, began to take 
more definite form in Van’s mind. Thus far he had 
thought more of the novel experiences of the journey 
itself. Now his heart began to beat high with anticipa- 
tion, and he became as anxious to shorten the voyage 
as was Martin himself. 

Tom, on his own part, accepted the story of Itambez 
in perfect good faith. His simple and somewhat cred- 
ulous nature had taken in all he had previously heard 
about the treasure city without the slightest shadow of 
hesitation. 

“I termendous lucky to fall in wid you two,” he 
gravely remarked. “ ’Spect I’ll make er mighty good 
thing of it some way or oder, and any way I’se sure of 
my twenty-five dollars a month.” 

Though the three voyagers encountered the usual 


40 


VAN. 


discomforts incident to travel in warm climates, they 
endured them with considerable philosophy, as well 
persons might with such a goal in view as Itambez. 

Occasionally a small, light draught schooner would 
be spoken or encountered at anchor, but after they had 
fairly entered the Uraria, these connecting links of 
civilization were left behind. 

It was early morning when the light boat, swinging 
round a bend in the Uraria, entered the mouth of the 
unexplored Canuma branch. 

The mist, rising from the face of the smooth stream, 
was shot through with golden arrows from the bow of 
the rising sun. There was no air stirring, so Tom and 
Bob were plying the paddles — the boat being kept well 
into the eastern shore on account of the swift current. 

The scene was one of indescribable beauty. The 
mast was brushed by clusters of vines, full of odorous 
blossoms, hanging from the overarching limbs of lofty 
trees on the banks, which themselves were a mass of 
the densest foliage rising directly from the water’s 
edge. 

Everywhere grew the palm and cacao, while among 
the glossy banana leaves the golden fruit hung tempt- 
ingly. Big blue butterflies, half as large as an ordinary 
palm leaf fan, danced over the river or hovered among 
the blossoms. Parrots and parrakeets chattered in the 
tree tops, lories whistled, and ducks with their young 
broods quacked loudly as they were disturbed by the 
approach of the gliding boat. 

All the long day scenes of strange novelty kept pre- 
senting themselves at almost every bend and turn of 
the river, which, so far as is definitely known, has never 


Pam 


4t 

before been navigated beyond a little settlement of 
Mauri Indians, some twenty miles from its mouth, 
excepting by one or two parties of venturesome ex- 
plorers. 

Some distance above its mouth, the river had over- 
flowed its banks. For miles a watery forest, or jygapos, 
as the flooded plains are termed, extended on every 
side. It was an easy matter to follow the river bed, 
but toward the close of the day a deviation was made 
among the tree trunks in pursuit of a wounded duck 
which had fallen at a discharge of Van’s gun. 

The mast had been unstepped on account of the dif- 
ficulty of forcing the boat along among the bushy tops 
of the jungle brush, which rose only a short distance 
above the surface. 

Van, sitting in the stern and holding the short steer- 
ing oar, was directing the course of the boat, which Bob 
Martin, hidden by the cabin amidships, was paddling 
as directed by Tom. The negro was in the bow, 
reaching out with a rude substitute for a boat-hook, 
and trying to secure the wounded duck, which managed 
to keep just out of reach. 

As the boat passed under the branches of a huge wild 
fig tree, which, matted with thick vines and creepers, 
stretched out in every direction for many yards, Van 
was conscious of a slight rustling above him. 

Looking up involuntarily, he had a glimpse of an 
olive-hued face bending over a parting among the 
foliage directly above his head. Almost simultaneously 
two muscular hands attached to long brown sinewy 
arms were thrust quickly downward, and, clutching 
Van by either shoulder, jerked him suddenly up through 
ihe opening as easily as though he had been a child. 


VAN. 


42 


CHAPTER VI. 

VAN IS TAKEN PRISONER. 

“ A Gorilla ! ” was the wild thought which flashed 
across Van’s mind, but before he could cry out a broad 
hand was clapped across his mouth, while his wrists 
were seized and held in a grasp like that of a vise. 

But no — the dark face bending over him was that of 
a human being, an Indian evidently, as was the lithe 
dark-skinned young man who had seized and lashed 
his ankles together, and was pressing his whole weight 
upon the lower part of Van’s body, despite his frantic 
struggles. 

The whole affair was the work of an instant, and ac- 
complished with such silent swiftness that the boat 
swept on, and its occupants, both of whom were facing 
the bows, were utterly unconscious of what had taken 
place. 

With a mixture of emotions impossible to describe, 
Van, thus rendered speechless and helpless, listened in 
mute despair to the sound of the receding paddle ! 

As his eyes accustomed themselves to the shadowy 
gloom caused by the dense foliage, he saw that he was 
extended on a platform of canes held together by twisted 
rushes, supported by the lowermost branches of the fig 


VAN 


43 

tree, which themselves were interwoven with matted 
vines. 

The intermediate boughs had been removed to the 
height of about eight feet, and the extreme ends of those 
above brought down in a sort of arch to the edge of the 
platform. Ingeniously arranged among and above them 
was a sloping roof of closely woven flags, quite imper- 
vious to the occasional light showers of the dry season. 

At the further extremity were three grass hammocks, 
and a rude stone fireplace, beside which crouched a 
scantily attired Indian woman, whose dark eyes glanced 
curiously at the prisoner. 

The old Indian at Van’s head addressed the woman 
in a sharp undertone. Rising, she pulled from an over- 
hanging branch a bright scarf of native manufacture, 
which she tossed to her dark-skinned companion. 

In less time than I have taken to write it, the scarf 
was tightly drawn across Van’s mouth and his wrists 
lashed like his ankles. Then being laid gently on a pile 
of jaguar skins, he had an opportunity to reflect on his 
serious situation, as well as to further examine the ap- 
pearance of his captors. 

Both the older and younger of the Indians were un- 
like any of those he had yet seen along the river banks 
where the three travelers had stopped from time to time. 

They had rather pleasant, regular features of olive hue, 
and hair with a slight tendency to curl at the ends. 

As he was attentively regarding them, the oldest one 
suddenly threw up his hand warningly. 

Through the stillness of the nearing twilight Van heard 
the regular dip of paddles 1 

“ Van — Mr. Briscoe I” 


44 


VAN : 


In vain Van writhed and struggled with his bonds, as 
he heard his name shouted repeatedly in Martin’s power- 
ful voice. 

The older Indian, with a perfectly impassive face, 
drew a curious looking knife with a sharp two-edged 
blade from the coarse sash about his waist and gently 
placed its point against Van’s throat. 

“ Van — Mr. Briscoe!” 

Again the cry rang through the glades of the flooded 
forest, and was repeated by Tom with the full strength 
of his lungs. But Van was helpless to reply. 

Nearer and nearer came the sound of the water gur- 
gling about the bows of the boat. 

At a mute sign from the elder, the young Indian took 
from a couple of pegs in one of the limbs overhead a 
lancewood bow nearly five feet in length, and, selecting 
an arrow almost as long from a sheaf in a wicker recep- 
tacle, silently approached the aperture in the floor 
through which Van had been so unceremoniously pulled. 

Parting the vines beneath, he knelt at the side of the 
opening, and, fitting the arrow to his bowstring, seemed 
to hold himself in readiness. 

“ It was somewhere hereabouts I first looked round 
and saw he was gone,” Van heard Bob Martin say in a 
voice suggestive of great anxiety. 

“He mus’ a’ slipped ober accidental an’ drowndid 
hisself — no oder way possible he could a got outer de 
boat so myster’ous,” sadly returned the negro. 

“But it would seem as though we should have heard 
the splash or something ” responded Bob in troubled 
tones, and again he shouted Van’s name, but only 
echoes replied. 


VAAT. 


45 


“ If Mist’ Van was alive he’d answer dat for sure,” 
said Tom. As he spoke, the boat glided so near the 
hiding place that the tips of one of the lower branches 
swept its gunwales. 

Breathlessly, and in an agony of mind almost inde- 
scribable, Van saw the young Indian’s eye glancingalong 
the straight shaft, the notched end of which was being 
drawn slowly back. 

Like a man in a terrible nightmare he could not stir 
hand, foot, or tongue, to warn his friends of their 
danger. 

But the boat moved slowly on, and as the young 
native relaxed his bowstring Van breathed more freely. 

“ It’s most dark,” Van heard Bob saying, “and we 
must get back to the river bed or run the risk of getting 
lost in this confounded forest.” 

And then the voices dwindled to an indistinct mur- 
mur, and Van felt as though his last hope was gone. 

As the sounds died away in the distance, the younger 
of the two Indians rose, and, laying aside the bow and 
arrow, spoke rapidly to the other, who had replaced 
the knife in his sash. 

Then, passing behind the tree trunk, he quickly reap- 
peared, carrying a light canoe which was made from 
rawhide stretched tightly over a wicker framework, and 
rendered impervious to the wet by a coating of mastic. 

This he dropped through the opening, and lowered 
himself after it. The soft plash of a paddle was heard 
and he was gone. 

His senior, with the same impassivity of face, un- 
bound the scarf from Van’s face, and unloosed the 
thongs at his wrists. Then he significantly touched his 


46 


VAN. 


knife blade as a gentle hint to his captive not to pre- 
sume on his good nature. 

What the possible object of this strange capture 
might be, Van could not for a moment imagine. He 
had nothing about him in the way of weapons to tempt 
their cupidity. The money belt worn next his skin 
and a stout knife in his pocket were his only possessions, 
excepting his wearing apparel. 

Nor did the Indians seem badly disposed toward him. 
The woman, who had rather comely features, mixed 
some dough and baked it over the coals in the rude 
stone oven. This, with strips of dried turtle meat, was 
given Van to eat, followed by a refreshing draught of a 
thick, purplish beverage — the juice of the fruit of assai 
palm, as Van afterwards knew. 

As darkness came on, the woman of the house took 
from a pannier overhead a number of small, slender, 
sun-dried fish not unlike the common smelt in appear- 
ance, one of which, to Van's astonishment, she pro- 
ceeded to light in the embers as though it were a can- 
dle. 

The curious taper burned with a clear odorless flame 
when thrust in the cleft of a split reed, consuming to the 
very tip of the tail, and lasting nearly half an hour. 

Van was made to understand by signs that he was 
to use the jaguar skins as his bed for the night. The 
woman retired to one of the hammocks, while her hus- 
band, squatting silently on the platform with a long 
metal-tipped spear beside him, prepared to stand — or 
sit — guard over his captive. 

That was the longest night of Van’s life. Whenever 
he awaked from a troubled doze, it was to meet the 


VAN. 


47 


bright unwinking gaze of his watchful guard, who only- 
changed his position when it was necessary to light 
another of his queer candles. 

With daylight came a simple yet palatable breakfast 
of fish caught from the platform of the tree dwelling ten 
minutes before they were rolled in a taste of mandioca 
meal and laid on the glowing coals. 

That Bob and the negro must have given up their 
search Van despondently decided as the forenoon 
slowly wore away, and he heard no welcome sound of 
paddles or voices calling his name. 

Finally he abandoned the faint hopes of their return 
to which he had half despairingly clung. There must 
be only the one way in which they could account for 
his strange disappearance — and that the one suggested 
by the negro. 

They would have no other resource now, except to 
go on toward Canuma Lake, and since morning a fresh 
breeze had been blowing which would send their boat 
flying toward her destination. 

The dense foliage cut away from the interior 
limbs of the great fig tree to make space had been left 
at the extremities, so that there was no outlook what- 
ever except by parting the leaves, and this Van did not 
dare to attempt. 

And so the weary forenoon passed. His strange cap- 
tor and his wife made but little conversation with each 
other, but their watchfulness never abated for a mo- 
ment. 

Lulled by the drowsy warmth into partial slumber, 
Van was reclining on his jaguar skin mat just after the 
noonday meal, when he was aroused by the sound of 


FA AT. 


48 

voices talking an incomprehensible jargon directly be- 
neath the platform. 

Almost simultaneously the head and shoulders of the 
younger Indian appeared at the opening. A few words 
were exchanged between the newcomer and the others. 

The thongs were loosened about Van’s ankles enough 
to permit him to stand upright. Then by signs he was 
instructed to lower himself through the square aperture 
— which having done, Van found himself on a large 
raft, manned by a dozen or more Indians. 

The raft itself was built of logs nearly as light as the 
wood of the cork tree, bound neatly and compactly 
together with ropes of palm fibers. At one end was a 
palm thatched enclosure serving as a cabin, behind 
which stood a tall helmsman wielding a broad bladed 
paddle. 

It was propelled with rude oars, or, when the wind 
was fair, with a square sail of closely woven grass 
matting attached to a yard on a stumpy mast 

Whether a white captive was a novelty in the 
experience of this peculiar people, it was impossible 
for Van to determine. 

The same gravity of demeanor was apparent among 
them as he had noticed on the face of his guard of the 
previous night. Nor did they seem to look at Van 
with curiosity. He was passed along something after 
the manner of a bale of goods to the little cabin astern, 
and gently motioned to take his seat on the fragrant 
dry grass which served as carpet and couch. 

As the raft moved slowly out into the flooded forest, 
Van vainly endeavored to inquire hi$ destination or 
fate. 


VAN. 


49 

The Indians could not or would not understand his 
signs. Indeed they paid but little attention to their 
prisoner, knowing probably that he could only escape 
by jumping overboard, in which case the alligators 
would make short work of him. 

Two men pulled leisurely on either oar, while the 
remainder squatted in close proximity to a pile of 
spears, only moving when called upon to relieve the 
oarsmen. The spears, with heavy lancewood bows 
and long arrows, were their only weapons. 

There was something almost appalling in their 
strange silence, and the personal appearance of the 
raftsmen was anything but prepossessing. 

Each man had his head closely shaven, excepting 
just above the forehead and behind the ears, where the 
hair was allowed to grow and hang over the shoulders 
like a shaggy mane. Their bestial and savage look 
was heightened by the practice common among the 
Mumurus of chipping the upper and lower front teeth 
to a sharp point, so that they resembled saw teeth. 

There was a cannibalistic suggestion in the looks of 
this people which was by no means pleasant. Van 
put the idea as far as possible from his mind, but de- 
spite his best efforts the terrible thought would come 
up, and it is no wonder that he gradually gave way to 
the deepest despondency as he realized his almost 
hopeless condition. 


50 


VAN 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE MUMURU VILLAGE. 

As the sun disappeared behind some curiously shaped 
hill-tops (the first indication of a mountainous region 
that Van had noticed since leaving the Amazon) the 
raft emerged from the flooded forest into the main 
course of the river. 

Crossing the stream at almost right angles, it was 
propelled into the mouth of a deep wide branch which 
entered the Canuma on the western side. After an 
hour of alternate pulling and towing the raft rounded a 
thickly wooded point, and touched the strand. 

Forest and shore alike were wrapped in the soft 
impenetrable gloom of the tropics, which served to 
make the blazing constellations of the bluish black vault 
overhead shine out with double splendor. 

Fire-flies sparkled through the air on every side, 
and occasionally the giant lantern fly whizzed past, 
leaving a strange phosphorescent trail as distinct as 
that of a passing meteor. 

Scarcely was the raft made fast to a stake in the sand, 
when the raftsmen united their voices in a strange 
shrill cry. It was echoed from a short distance away. 


VAN. 


51 

Like magic the darkness was suddenly illumined by 
the flashing up of a dozen blazing bonfires within a 
stones throw of the narrow beach. 

Apparently fed with some resinous substance, the 
flames shot skyward and lit up the surroundings with 
startling distinctness. 

Before Van's astonished and bewildered gaze, a large 
settlement of palm thatched houses, divided by narrow 
streets, extended back from the river bank into the 
thickly-wooded slope beyond. 

Gathering about the bonfires and rushing down to 
meet the occupants of the raft was a tumultuous crowd 
of men, women, and children, of the same nationality 
as his captors. 

Finger tips were touched, a few brief words exchanged 
in a subdued undertone, and then Van, as one in a 
dream, was escorted up from the beach by half a dozen 
brawny, muscular men, each armed with a spear, and 
bearing a shield of several thicknesses of skin stretched 
over an oval frame-work. 

Arriving at a square building in the very center of 
the village, near each corner of which a smaller bonfire 
was burning, Van was gently urged through the door- 
way by a young Mumuru. The latter took up his 
position on the outside, near the door, while at either 
corner four other guards were placed. 

Van's prison house seemed to be a structure some 
thirty feet square, built something after the primitive 
style of the old time log cabin, excepting that the 
spaces between the logs were left unchinked, presumably 
for the sake of air and light. 

The interior was in partial darkness, till, a few mo- 


VAN. 


52 

ments later, a couple of Indian boys entered, each bear- 
ing an armful of short billets of pitchy wood, which 
they carefully deposited on the hard beaten clay floor 
in the center of the structure. 

A lighted brand carried by one of them was applied 
to the pile, and it shot up at once into a white flame, 
which, strangely enough, gave out comparatively little 
heat, but an intense light. 

The boys brought more wood with which to replenish 
the fire, and then, after stealing curious glances at the 
prisoner from beneath their shaggy manes, they with- 
drew, leaving Van to examine his surroundings at his 
leisure. 

But — merciful heavens ! — what were these staring 
down at him from rude shelves at the further end of 
his prison ? 

Possessed of more than ordinary courage, Van Bris- 
coe could face a living emergency — so to speak — with 
tolerable coolness and composure. But the dead 

Resolutely fighting down the shuddering horror 
which had suddenly almost overcome him, Van walked 
toward the opposite side of the enclosure. There he 
saw, directly before him, one, two, three — twenty, in 
all — human heads, ranged in rows, and nearly on a 
level with his own ! 

It was a full moment before he could recover himself 
from the shock enough to think calmly, and then he 
suddenly remembered that, among other facts he had 
learned relating to the customs of the savage tribes 
in the far interior of Brazil, was their habit of embalm- 
ing the heads of enemies slain in battle, after the man- 
ner of the head-hunting Bornean Dyaks. 


VAN. 


53 

But these two ghastly faces set apart by themselves 
just above a sort of square altar built of slabs of flat 
stone — these were no natives of South America — no 
enemies slain in battle 1 

Taking a burning stick from the blaze, Van stepped 
nearer. 

The flickering flame shone directly upon the wonder- 
fully well preserved features of a European. Blonde 
hair and a heavy beard were exactly as in life. Small 
cowry shells had been inserted into the eye sockets, 
giving the ghastly appearance of a man looking through 
half closed eyes. 

The other face was that of a younger man, with a 
mustache. With the exception of a shriveled and 
leathery appearance of the skin, either one could have 
been recognized by any one knowing the originals in 
life ! 

From these grim objects Van transferred his gaze to 
the square stone structure beneath them ; and as he did 
so, he gave a start of surprise. 

Upon the flat top lay several articles which he at 
once conjectured to have belonged to the white victims 
whose embalmed heads were placed directly above 
them. 

A pocket revolver of English make, the cylinder of 
which contained four empty shells and one still 
loaded, in itself suggested a tragic story. Near it lay a 
box half full of cartridges belonging to the weapon, 
and, in a little pile by themselves, were nearly fifty 
large brass shells such as are used with the heaviest 
kind of breech-loading rifles. A bunch of keys, a 
watertight metal matchbox containing wax matches, a 


54 


VAN. 


silver drinking cup and a small pocket compass, were 
placed symmetrically at the several four corners of the 
structure. In the middle lay the leather cover and fly 
leaf of what had been a pocket notebook. 

On the latter was written as follows : 

“Journal of a tripup the Amazon and interior ex- 
ploration, by Edward Bampton and Carl Schmidt. 
Left Rio Janeiro Jan. 3, 1875. ” 

It was all plain enough to Van. The two explorers 
had fallen victims to the barbarous tribe whose prisoner 
he himself was. Perhaps these terribly suggestive relics 
of humanity were intended as object lessons to teach 
him his own fate. 

That the articles above enumerated were evidently 
regarded with a sort of superstitious reverence, and 
their use not understood by the Mumurus, Van readily 
conjectured. 

They certainly knew nothing of firearms, or they 
would not have placed their prisoner where he could 
secure such a priceless treasure as the revolver, which, 
barring a little rust, was in perfect order. 

He lost no time in appropriating it, and having re- 
placed the empty shells with loaded ones, pocketed the 
pistol and the remaining cartridges with feelings of 
relief too great for utterance. The compass, cup and 
matchbox he also took, together with the leaf of the 
notebook telling its sad story. 

As Van was turning away, a sudden thought occurred 
to him. 

If, as he had conjectured, the Indians knew nothing 


VAN. 


55 

of the power of firearms, how would it do to experiment 
a little ? 

Taking a handful of the large cartridges, he replen- 
ished his own fire and glanced out between the logs. 

The four separate fires at the four corners of his prison 
house were burning brightly, and near each was a tall 
guard with shield and spear. About the fire stood little 
knots of natives, occasionally exchanging a few words 
regarding their new prisoner — at least, so Van imagined. 

The young Indian stood motionless by the door, lean- 
ing on his spear — his dark eyes curiously regarding 
Van, whose every movement could be seen by the light 
of the blaze within. 

Now Van had noticed upon entering that the rude 
substitute for a door was only fastened by a twisted 
withe. The Mumurus probably considered that the 
prisoner’s safety was guaranteed by the presence and 
watchfulness of five armed guards, rather than by any 
restraint of bolts and bars. 

“If I could only get him away from in front of the 
door just for a moment ! ” Van thought. 

Moving across the enclosure, he leaned up against the 
logs, and, reaching one arm through as far as possible, 
tossed the handful of cartridges directly into the heart 
of the blazing bonfire, not five feet distant from the 
corner of the building. 

As he had anticipated, the act was seen by his sharp- 
e yed guardians. With those immediately surrounding 
the fire, the young Indian bent eagerly over it to see 
what possible charm the white prisoner might be at- 
tempting. 

They discovered almost immediately. As Van dis- 


VAN. 


56 

creetly retreated to the opposite side, a sudden loud 
explosion, closely followed by another and another, 
sent embers and ashes flying in the air ! 

And not only that. The simultaneous report also 
sent five shrieking Indians right and left — one with a 
bullet through his leg from an exploded cartridge — 
roused up half the village, and, best result of all, caused 
the young Mumuru before Van’s prison door to drop 
his spear in a perfect frenzy of fright and bolt in the 
opposite direction like a deer ! 

This was Van’s opportunity ! Throwing his weight 
against the inside of the door, the withe broke like 
packthread, and he was outside in a twinkling. 

Snatching the spear from the ground, Van made a 
break through the darkness, with no more definite idea 
than to lose himself in the thick growth behind the 
village. 

But half a dozen forms, which seemed to rise out of 
the earth, confronted him, while following the sharp 
twang of a bowstring came the whiz of an arrow with- 
in an inch of his head. 

At the same moment a tall Indian, uttering a yell 
which would have done credit to an Apache, sprang 
forward to clutch the escaping prisoner. 


VAN 


57 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE FLIGHT AND THE PURSUIT. 

It was simply a matter of life and death with Van 
Briscoe, and self-preservation is a law of nature. 

Launching the spear at his would-be assailant — with 
a very marked result, to judge by the cry of pain that 
followed — Van wheeled in his tracks and fled in an 
opposite direction. 

By this time the entire village was in commotion. 
Torches flashed hither and thither — loud and excited 
voices were heard, and for once at least the usually 
apathetic Mumurus, disappointed of another white 
man's head to add to their collection, were in a high 
state of excitement. 

Van, who had completely lost his bearings, sped on 
through the darkness, once or twice running into a 
recently roused Indian. Without stopping to apologize 
he kept on in his flight. 

But the Indians against whom he stumbled quickly 
gave the alarm, and in a moment or two the hue and 
cry was turned in the direction he had taken. A dozen 
torches, waving wildly in the air, moved swiftly toward 
him. As his eyes became a little accustomed to the 
darkness, Van saw that his aimless flight had brought 


5 8 VAN. 

him to the bank of the wide stream where the raft was 
moored. 

Suddenly the remembrance of the little canoe came 
to his mind. 

Springing upon the raft, Van ran swiftly over the 
logs to the further end, just as a howling mob came 
rushing down to the beach. 

Luckily for Van, he had several times adventured 
himself in a canvas canoe owned by one of the St. 
Mary’s boys. So, despite the urgent need of haste, he 
took time to place himself in the bottom of the frail 
craft with due caution. Then, casting loose the raw- 
hide painter, he pushed off. 

And not a second too soon. A wild-eyed, half-naked 
Mumuru, waving a flaming torch above his head, 
dashed out on the raft He was closely followed by 
another, who, dropping on one knee, fitted an arrow to 
the bowstring. 

The glaring light of the torch clearly revealed the 
dark savage faces and gleaming white teeth of his 
enemies. As the eye of the kneeling Indian glittered 
along the slender shaft, Van, who had no other resource, 
drew the revolver and fired. A yell of terror attested 
to the result of the hasty aim, and seizing the paddle 
Van sent the light canoe spinning out into the darkness. 
He had gained at least temporary safety, for the deep 
gloom that overhung the 'wooded banks of the river 
concealed him from his enemies. 

He heard the whizzing of arrows and the soft 
“ plash ” as they fell on the water about the canoe, but 
in another moment he had shot round the bend in the 
stream. 


VAN , ; 


59 

Van suffered his boat to drift downward with the 
current, keeping as nearly as possible in the middle of 
the stream, whose densely wooded shores, indistinctly 
seen through the gloom, swept past with considerable 
rapidity. 

In less than half an hour he had reached the junction 
of the smaller creek with the Canuma. Drawing the 
canoe under the overhanging branches of an immense 
cluster of tree ferns, he “tied up” till morning— it 
being impossible to get further in the darkness. 

Laying himself at uneasy length in the canoe bottom, 
Van drew a long breath. For the first time since his 
escape he had leisure for connected thought. 

What step to take next did not trouble his mind. 
There was only one thing that he could do — that being 
to go forward. He could not hope to overtake Bob 
Martin and Tom unless they had been delayed in some 
way, yet he could reach Canuma Lake with ordinary 
good fortune. Once there, unless the whole thing was 
a myth, he would find those who would help him — or 
in the words of his uncle Richard's message — “ whoever 
shall reach Canuma Lake , bringing this letter which has 
the imprint of the royal seal ’ has no further difficulty . 
His or their responsibility ceases , and such person or 
persons are taken in charge by others. ” 

Revolving these thoughts, together with confused 
memories of the startling events of the past twenty- 
four hours, in his mind, Van fell fast asleep. 

He had resolved to wake with the first gleam of day. 
But into his leafy, shaded retreat, neither the glimmer 
of dawn nor the rays of sunrise could penetrate, and 
the sun itself was two hours high before Van opened 


6o 


VAN. 


his eyes with a drowsily vague idea that he was 
stretched in a coffin. 

Remembering where he was, he was carefully stand- 
ing upright in the bottom of the little craft, and looking 
around him, when a long double end canoe, manned 
by more than a dozen Mumurus, swept swiftly past his 
hiding-place. 

Pausing for a moment at the mouth of the stream, 
they held a brief consultation — some pointing up the 
Canuma, others down, or in the direction from which 
Van and his companions had previously come. 

To Van's great delight, the latter course was finally 
decided upon, and in another moment his enemies were 
hidden from view by a bend in the river. 

Leaving the leafy covert, with a heart full of thank- 
fulness, Van took the opposite direction, and after two 
hours of steady paddling, ran the canoe ashore in a 
little cove, with a view of hunting up breakfast. 

Here he began to notice an entire change in the 
landscape and surrounding scenery. The palms, cacaos, 
and white trunked rubber trees were replaced by an 
entirely new and strange growth. 

There was an entire lack of underbrush, and from 
the river banks long reaches of grass-covered plains 
stretched out for countless miles — an immense un- 
fenced pasture for thousands upon thousands of wild 
cattle. 

Another thing that Van noticed as he stepped ashore 
was the seeming absence of fear on the part of the bird 
and animal kingdom. 

Humming birds of every conceivable brilliant hue 
flashed past him within reach and poised themselves 


VXM 


6t 


above the gaudy passion vines and strangely shaped 
orchid blossoms. A large white cockatoo with a yellow 
crest eyed Van with thoughtful contemplation from a 
mimosa tree a couple of yards away. And a troop of 
diminutive monkeys with ludicrous baby faces perched 
themselves in a row on a fallen tree trunk, like the 
“ten little Injuns sitting in a line,” and watched him 
in silent curiosity. 

A few moments later Van knocked over a wild pea- 
cock with a shot from his revolver. At the report the 
birds took flight, while the monkeys fled shrieking 
with affright, and he experienced a half guilty feeling 
at having thus disturbed the peace of this primitive 
solitude. 

While he was waiting for the fire he had kindled to 
burn up, Van cut from the rawhide painter of the canoe 
a long slender strip. Tying a bit of the flesh of the slain 
peacock to one end, he drew in a dozen or more large 
fish as fast as he could throw them ashore. 

Making a paste of clay he rolled each one therein, 
and then buried them in the embers. The fowl he 
roasted after a rude fashion over the fire, and only for 
lack of that simple yet almost indispensable seasoning 
— salt — Van would have made a most enjoyable break- 
fast 

As it was, his hunger was satisfied, and having 
wrapped the fragments left over in a banana leaf, 
which he placed in the canoe, he made a brief reference 
to his chart. 

At a rough estimate, he judged Canuma Lake not to 
be over a hundred miles, or less than three days' 
journey, distant Greatly encouraged, he started on 
again. 


62 


VAN. 


But now began by far the most difficult part of the 
voyage. The river had narrowed from nearly a mile 
in width to less than half that distance, and the current 
increased in strength, while at short intervals it was 
broken by dangerous rapids and waterfalls. 

Luckily for Van his canoe did not weigh much more 
than twenty-five pounds, so that when he reached 
places where navigation was an impossibility, he ran 
the little craft ashore. Then, shouldering it, he made 
his way as best he could around the fall or rapid to the 
smoother water above. 

But the difficulties thus encountered seemed insur- 
mountable at times, and only that turning back meant 
almost certain death in one form or another, Van 
would more than once have given up in despair. 

His clothing was nearly reduced to rags — his stout 
walking shoes were full of holes, and though the mos- 
quito districts were left behind the bites of tiny red ants 
and other tormenting insects almost drove him frantic. 

He had to force his way through nearly impenetrable 
ravines into which the light of day apparently had 
never shone, and over marshes where the atmosphere 
reeked with foul miasmas from the rotting vegetation 
and slimy pools on every hand. 

Van knew that his late companions must be worse 
off than himself. Their boat was far too heavy for a 
portage or “carry,” and they must have abandoned 
her, to pursue their journey entirely by land on one 
side of the river or the other, encumbered by the weight 
of their guns and such necessaries as they felt obliged 
to take. 

But he listened in vain for the distant report of fire- 






VAN 


6 3 

arms, and equally in vain did he strain his gaze hoping 
to see some far away column of smoke indicating their 
camp fire. 

The long stretches he was enabled to make in his 
canoe, in the slack of comparatively smooth water 
between the irregular occurrence of rapids and falls, 
served to give his blistered and aching feet a little rest. 
But though he fought desperately against the feeling, 
Van could not but know that he was growing weaker 
every day from fatigue and lack of proper food. 

He had grown to fairly loathe the scorched flesh of 
the wild fowl which he shot with his revolver from 
time to time, and even preferred the rather rancid taste 
of the turtles’ eggs that he found in abundance in the 
sandy patches along the shore. 

Occasionally Van was lucky enough to discover an 
anthill whose original occupants had been evicted by a 
swarm of small stingless black bees. The honey, 
instead of being stored in comb cells, was enclosed in 
perfectly round balls of black wax one and two inches 
in diameter. This Van found very delicious. 

But three and even four days had passed, yet he 
could see no signs of an approach to the looked-for 
lake. On the morning of the fifth day Van woke from 
unrestful night’s slumber in his canoe, with every bone 
in his body aching terribly, and a sensation as though 
a band of red hot iron were welded about his forehead. 
Cold chills ran over him from time to time, succeeded 
by intervals of heat in which he seemed to be burning 
up. 

But the will power is a wonderful factor in sickness. 
Had Van been differently circumstanced, he would 


64 


VAX. 


have dosed himself with quinine, and given himself up 
to the fever of the Brazilian interior. 

As it was, grimly telling himself that he couldn’t 
afford to be sick, he swallowed a mouthful or two of 
turtle meat crisped over the coals, washed it down with 
a draught of river water, and paddled out into the 
stream. 

Fortunately he had reached a comparatively easy 
stretch with a sluggish current, and weak as were the 
strokes of his paddles, Van was enabled to make con- 
siderable headway. Then, too, the sun was partly 
veiled in a soft misty haze not unlike that of a New 
England October, and a cooling breeze blew up the 
river, tempering the intense heat. 

At some little distance ahead Van saw in the very 
middle of the stream a tall basaltic rock or column, 
which at a nearer approach he discovered to be of a 
dull reddish color not unlike porphyry. Around its base 
the river ran with considerable force, yet so hard was 
the formation that there was not the least appearance 
of its having been worn by the action of the water. 


CHAPTER XX. 

DRAWING NEARER TO ITAMBEZ. 

When nearly opposite the column, Van noticed with 
surprise that the surface was graven in places by the 
hand of man. 

There were strange hieroglyphics in regular rotation, 
and not entirely unlike the pictures he had seen of those 
found among the ruins in Yucatan and Mexico. 

But conceive his wondering amazement when a 
nearer approach showed on the front of the column 
the device or insignia of the serpent encircling the hand 
holding a lighted torch, deeply cut on the front of the 
rock, in such heroic size that it could be seen from 
either bank of the river. 

For the moment Van forgot his privation, hunger, 
aches and pains. 

Here was at last a convincing proof that admitted of 
no question as to the reality of the province he was 
seeking — a mark, perhaps, of the beginning of the 
boundaries of Itambezi the treasure land ! 

Above the sculptured pillar the river bent abruptly to 
the west, and the tall forest on either hand gave place 
to a lower growth. And as Van’s canoe rounded the 
green curve, his heart gave another great throb of joy. 

Outlined against the distant horizon were the irregular 


66 


VAN. 


snow-crested summits of a far reaching mountain 
range, whose dimly seen slopes were veiled in misty 
tints of purple and blue. And Van did not need to refer 
to the letter chart to know that these were the mighty 
Cordilleras which encircled the sought for province 
and city of Itambez. They were the mountains among 
which was the canyon through which flowed the very 
river whose course he was following. 

As nearly as he could judge they were from forty to 
fifty miles distant, though in reality — as he afterward 
knew — they were much further. 

The roar of a waterfall beyond a turn in the river 
warned Van that another portage was before him. 
With anything but cheerful anticipations of a two or 
three hours’ tramp through marsh and morass, entan- 
gling creepers and forests strewn with rolling tree 
trunks, Van paddled ashore at a convenient landing 
place, and lifting the canoe, which seemed to weigh 
far more than it had ever done, he took up his line of 
march along the river bank. 

With aching head and dizzy brain, Van staggered on, 
thankful to find that it was comparatively easy walking 
owing to the sudden absence of underbrush. 

Lofty trees different in size and shape from any he 
had seen, giving cooling shade, and soft rich grass, 
grateful to his tired feet, invited him to rest. 

Putting down the canoe with a sigh of relief, he 
dropped beside it, and languidly wiped the streaming 
perspiration from his face with a handful of leaves. 

The breeze died away as suddenly as it sprang up. 
and the hot, suffocating sultriness was almost unen- 
durable 


VAN. 


6 7 

Thicker and thicker grew the hazy atmosphere, yet 
there were no gathering storm clouds, neither the 
distant signal of thunder. 

A strange and unearthly stillness was brooding over 
the face of nature. The parrots and lories had ceased 
their perpetual chatter of love or warfare in the tree 
tops. The distant bellowing of howling monkeys, 
which can be heard almost any hour of the twenty- 
four, had died into silence. Even the roar of the far off 
waterfall had a curiously subdued sound — or so at least 
it seemed to Van’s overwrought and excited nerves. 

“ If there’s going to be a thunder tempest I ought to 
be looking for a place of shelter,” he told himself. Yet 
he could see no chance of cover excepting the trees 
themselves, and a tall tree is hardly a safe refuge in a 
tropic thunder shower. 

A deep yet distant rumble, which, strangely enough, 
seemed to come from beneath rather than overhead, 
reached Van’s ears. Still there was no heavy gloom, 
such as generally presages the thunder storm. 

Again and again he heard the sound, sometimes 
protracted, sometimes in volleys like distant artillery. 

If he had been almost anywhere excepting in the 
heart of an unexplored tropical country, Van might 
have thought a battle was going on miles away. As it 
was, he hardly knew what to think. 

Suddenly, a sullen roar, that came from the very 
bowels of the earth, almost eaused his closely cut hair 
to erect itself like the often quoted quills of the fretful 
porcupine. 

According to the brief record I find in Van’s note- 
book, there is no such terrifying sound in nature as that 


VAM 


68 

which he then heard. And when, a second later, he 
felt the solid ground shaken to and fro, and rolling him 
from side to side as though he were the merest atom, 
a sickening sensation of fear took possession of him. 

Again that awful rumble, a thousandfold louder and 
deeper 1 As he reeled to his feet to fly — whither, he 
did not know — Van was thrown violently down. 

Before he could rise, there was a different motion — 
a direct upheaval — and Van mechanically clutched at 
the short grass as though to hold himself down. 

Then a third rumble came, but died away in an in- 
distinct muttering. The ground jarred slightly, as 
though shuddering at the previous throes, and gradually 
Van began to realize that the earthquake had spent its 
force. 

Whether it was the cause or not of the obscuring of 
the sun, Van noticed that, as the face of nature regained 
its wonted composure, the air was filled with a fine ; 
almost impalpable, grayish white dust, which slowly 
settled down and completely hid the green of grass 
and foliage, producing a most singular effect on the 
surrounding landscape. 

And this it was which suggested to him that a vol- 
canic eruption had taken place not many miles away. 
And what more natural to suppose than that the volcano 
itself was one of the mighty peaks which overtopped 
the province and city of Itambez ? 

In the tropics the recovery from almost every con- 
vulsion of nature is strangely sudden. 

Ten minutes after the last shock, the birds and ani- 
mals had resumed their wonted ways. 

Bright colored lizards from an inch to a foot in length 


VAN 


69 

scuttled through the grass at Van’s feet ; squirrels chat- 
tered in the trees, and a pure white monkey made im- 
pudent grimaces in his very face. Feeling sick and 
faint, he dragged himself to the shelter of a mimosa 
bush, and tried to collect his scattered senses. 

A rustling in the underbrush, and the sharp rattle of 
claws against a neighboring tree trunk, arrested his at- 
tention. With an effort, Van languidly raised his head 
from the green sward. 

A thrill of fear, partly due to his strained nerves, 
passed over him as a pair of glittering yellowish green 
eye-balls met his own, and he saw, crouching on the 
limb of a wide spreading tree, not fifteen feet away, a 
spotted jaguar, or tiger cat, as large as a half grown 
leopard, and fully as dangerous. 

As though fixed in his place by that strange fascina- 
tion with which the serpent charms the bird, Van’s 
faculties seemed for the moment to be perfectly be- 
numbed, and he sat spell-bound and motionless. 

He forgot that in his pocket was a loaded weapon. 
Indeed, as he has since said, he thinks his brain was 
temporarily paralyzed — if such a thing be possible. 

The lithe, long-limbed animal seemed drawing itself 
together for the expected spring. Its tail moved gently 
from side to side, as you may have seen a cat prepar- 
ing to pounce upon a luckless mouse. 

A sound, which Van instinctively knew to be the 
twang of a bowstring, broke the stillness of the drowsy 
atmosphere. 

Simultaneous with the sound, something whistled 
through the air from behind the thicket. Dear which Van 

Was reclining. 


VAN 


70 

The jaguar, snarling fiercely, threw its graceful head 
backwards, and bit savagely at the shaft of an arrow 
imbedded in its shoulder. 

“Twang,” went another bowstring, and a feathered 
shaft buried itself between the animal's ribs. 

Another and another followed in quick succession. 
The snarls of the savage animal, whose attention was 
now diverted from its prey, were changed to moans of 
pain. 

All at once its claws began slipping from the smooth 
bark. Catching convulsively at leaves and twigs in 
its descent, the jaguar fell to the ground — a convulsive 
quiver ran through its frame, and the limbs dropped 
limply on one side — the tiger cat was dead ! 

And now occurred a strange thing. A bareheaded 
boy of eight or ten years of age — or thus it seemed to 
Van — wearing a sleeveless, short-skirted shirt over loose 
white breeches reaching to the knee, came running 
swiftly over the green sward in the direction of the fal- 
len animal. He was followed by another and another, 
till more than twenty had clustered about it. 

None of them seemed to notice Van, who himself 
was not quite sure but the whole thing was part of a 
sort of temporary delirium. He lay reclining on one 
elbow, half hidden by a mimosa bush, feeling his former 
symptoms of lassitude and pain coming on. 

As nearly as he could tell from where he lay, there 
was hardly an inch of difference in the hunters' height, 
which at most was little more than four feet. 

“What next ? ” muttered Van, rubbing his eyes ; “do 
the people in this part of the world send children out 
hunting tiger cats ? ” 


VAN. 


71 

For all were armed — some with bows and arrows as 
long as themselves, and others with feathered lances. 

Van could hear their voices — proportioned to their 
tiny frames — in animated discussion over the dead jag* 
uar. And then an involuntary exclamation, suddenly 
forced from his lips by the strange darting pains through 
his back and loins, drew all eyes toward himself. 

That the fiend of fever had him in his clutches Van 
was fully assured. For as he dropped back on the 
grass, he was no longer Van Briscoe, but by some 
strange metamorphosis he had been changed into one 
Gulliver among the people of Lilliput ! 

These were not boys, but tiny bearded and mustached 
men of diminutive though perfect proportions, who 
quickly surrounded him. Thus much he made sure, 
before his heavy eyes fell, and the terrible stupor crept 
slowly but surely over his brain. 

He even felt that they were binding him hand and 
foot, and then was conscious that his revolver, the 
pocket compass, matchsafe and his knife were taken 
from different parts of his person. 

But when Van’s shirt was rudely torn open in front, 
and small hands explored the compartments of the 
money belt about his waist, he made one tremendous 
effort, and, opening his eyes, vainly struggled with his 
bonds. 

Whether it was part of his delirium or not, Van has 
never been perfectly sure. But as nearly as he can re- 
member, he was conscious that a sudden silence had 
fallen upon the Lilliputian throng. 

One of their number held in his small hands the 
letter he had taken from Van’s money belt. Raising it 


72 


VAAT. 


above nishead, he seemed to point to the imprint of the 
seal. 

Then, in the twinkling of an eye, his bonds were sev- 
ered. Gentle hands raised his head, and questions in 
an unknown tongue were uttered in his ear, but all in 
vain. The deathlike torpor he had first felt began to 
return — he shivered convulsively — there was a sound 
as of something like the discharges from a galvanic jar 
snapping in his head, and then Van Briscoe became 
mercifully unconscious. 


CHAPTER X. 


CANUMA LAKE. 

When Van Briscoe woke to consciousness his head 
was not very clear regarding what had happened to 
him, or how it was that he found himself lying in a 
very comfortable grass hammock, which was swinging 
easily to and fro through no volition on his own part 

He recalled the sensations of the earthquake shock, 
and his subsequent escape from the threatened attack 
of the jaguar. Then in immediate connection came 
his singular vision of the Lilliputian men. 

Raising his head, which felt light and dizzy, Van 
looked curiously about him. 

The hammock was swung from the opposite posts in 
a large airy structure. One side of this was open, ad- 
mitting air and light, and affording an uninterrupted 
view of a number of unusually small, neatly built huts, 
with conical tops skillfully thatched with rushes, held 
in place by cords of twisted grass. 

The walls, like those of the larger structure in which 
he was domiciled, were of stout, upright canes, wattled 
with willow withes and coarse grass. And sitting un- 
der the shade of broad leafed trees, whose foliage hardly 
admitted the sun's rays were groups of the little men 


74 


VAN 


and women whom he had thought of as part of his 
delirium. 

And as little by little the mists cleared aw T ay from his 
mind, Van called up certain things he had read in books 
of travel regarding races of small people which have 
been mentioned by various explorers. 

As, for example, the inhabitants of the Andaman 
Islands, whose stature seldom exceeds four feet five, 
while the average is but little over four feet ; and the 
pigmy people known to exist in the far interior of Cen- 
tral Africa, as also another distinct race in the unex- 
plored regions of India. 

So as he watched the movements of those under his 
own observation.. Van’s first bewilderment gave place 
to a sort of languid interest, particularly as he noticed 
that both males and females, as well as the tiny chil- 
dren playing about the grass, had pleasant, regular feat- 
ures, not unlike those of the true creole with jetty black 
hair and eyes. 

Instinctively, as the motion of his hammock sud- 
denly ceased, he turned his eyes inward. 

And as they fell upon the motive power which had 
been swinging his hammock, he laughed outright. 

A large white monkey, of the Albino tribe peculiar 
to Brazil, was squatted on the cane flooring of the hut, 
holding one end of a cord attached to Van’s hammock 
between its paws. Overcome by the warmth, Jocko 
had dropped into a short drowse, and was nodding like 
a Chinese mandarin. 

Suddenly a newcomer appeared — whether woman or 
young girl Van could not at first determine. She was 
not more than four feet high, but admirably propor- 


VAM 


75 


tioned, with the tiniest hands and feet imaginable, and 
a profusion of straight silky black hair flowing uncon- 
fined over the back of her simple attire, which consisted 
of a sort of waist and short skirt of native cloth. 

The small female’s first and essentially feminine act 
was to box the monkey’s ears, thereby awaking him to 
a sense of neglected duties. 

And then, as her bright eyes met Van’s a pleasant 
smile crossed her infantile features, saying as plainly 
as words could speak : 

“ Ah, you’re better — that’s well ! ” 

In another moment she had disappeared through the 
door frame (door there was none), returning almost 
instantly, holding a small jar of porous clay in her 
tiny hands. 

Standing on tiptoe beside the hammock, she held 
the jar to Van’s lips, signing him to drink the contents. 
It was palm wine in which had been stirred bruised leaves 
of some herb. Though slightly bitter, the draught was 
delightfully cool and refreshing and Van swallowed it 
to the last drop. 

“ Why, I feel better already,” he exclaimed, forgetting 
that he was speaking in an unknown tongue. But his 
voice, smile, and accompanying action of sitting upright 
in the hammock, made his meaning plain to the quick- 
witted little woman. She smiled approvingly, and in 
a clear, birdlike voice called out something intended 
for some one outside of the dwelling. 

Immediately one of the small masculines entered, 
who, as Van judged from something in his simple 
attire a trifle superior to that of his fellows, might be a 
sort of head man among them. 


VAN. 


76 

In his hands he held the letter taken from Van’s belt. 
This he pressed to his forehead, making a sort of 
obeisance. Then, giving it back to Van, he pointed 
with one finger in the direction which from the position 
of the sun Van judged to be the south, at the same 
time glancing with a look of intelligent inquiry into 
the young fellow’s face. 

Returning the letter to its receptacle, Van nodded 
emphatically. Then, not without effort, he rose from 
the hammock, and, in obedience to a deferential gest- 
ure from the little man, followed him into the open air. 

The Pocotas, as this strange race is called by the 
Brazilians, seemed remarkably free from the unpleas- 
ant inquisitiveness characterizing semi civilized people. 
True, Van was regarded with very evident curiosity, 
yet all held themselves at a respectful distance, as seat- 
ing himself under a wide spreading tree, he awaited 
with considerable interest the result of a prolonged 
conference between the head man of the Pocotas and a 
number who had gathered about him. 

All Van’s unpleasant sensations of the previous day 
had passed away. He no longer alternately shivered 
and burned, while the pain had entirely left his head. 
And this he attributed to the effect of some sort of potent 
medicine, which, he dimly remembered, had been 
forced between his lips at intervals during the night. 

A curiously carved calabash, containing fowl pre- 
pared with rice and highly seasoned with red pepper, 
was placed before him, together with a spoon neatly 
fashioned from tortoise shell. And when Van handed 
the bowl back to the little attendant it was empty. 

Meanwhile the consultation had ended. At a sign 


VAN. 


77 


from the diminutive chief, one of the men returned to 
Van the compass, match-box, cup, revolver, pistol and 
cartridges taken from him the afternoon before, but it 
was very evident that the Pocotas, who eyed them with 
a sort of respectful awe, had no conception of their use. 

Then, followed at a little distance by almost the 
entire population, Van was guided to the river banks 
but a pistol shot distant 

Here he found his canoe. In the bow was a wicker 
basket full of food, while beside it was a large jar of por- 
ous clay containing a preparation not unlike lemonade. 

That the Pocotas were aware of Van’s destination 
was very evident from what had passed. How much 
more they knew of the province on the very outskirts 
of which their own little tribe were suffered to dwell, 
Van could form no idea further than to judge by cer- 
tain indications that they held the people of Itambezi 
in great awe. 

Pointing up the river, the Pocota chief waved his 
hand in a circular sweep which Van understood to 
mean Canuma Lake. Next he held up two fingers, and 
this, Van felt quite sure, indicated two days’ journey, 
as the stock of provisions which had been provided 
were sufficient to last about that time. 

His canoe was carefully deposited in the water, and 
Van shook hands with a number of the friendly little 
people who pressed forward to bid him farewell. 

And then, taking his place in the bottom of the 
Mumuru canoe, which had done him such good service, 
Van resumed his paddle and his journey, quickly 
losing sight of his kindly entertainers around one of 
the frequent bends in the river. 


VAN 


78 

And now neither rapids or waterfalls were encoun- 
tered. Again the river widened, and the sluggish cur- 
rent was easily stemmed. Feeling better, stronger, 
and even light-hearted, Van sent his little craft skim- 
ming around with a strange thrill of exultation at the 
thought that he, a New England boy, was probably the 
first white man who had ever penetrated so far into 
these mysterious wilds. 

Nearer and with increasing grandeur loomed up the 
mighty mountain ranges, which, with the exception of 
the Andes, are perhaps the highest on the continent. 

Their crests and summits, covered with perpetual 
snows, were hidden among the clouds. Lower down 
began lines of green, deepening into stronger tints of 
olive, with here and there vast slopes and granite peaks 
rising in a thousand irregular and fantastic shapes. 

Along the river banks from time to time Van caught 
glimpses of massive ruins, which were perhaps, the 
remains of cities built by the people of whom the most 
ancient history has no record ; a race who ruled and 
reigned several thousands or years — so antiquarians 
assert — before the era of the Incas or the time of the 
Aztecs. 

Still on through the long day, which was followed 
by a night of refreshing slumber on the soft grass, a 
little back from the river’s edge, undisturbed by fears 
of the dampness and miasmatic vapors of the lower 
lands. 

Another day and another night, and then as the 
green river banks began to crimson in the rays of a 
morning sun, which turned the drops of dew on fern 
and flower into precious gems, Van saw before him the 
Jonged-for Lake Canuma. 


VAN. 


79 


No wonder that involuntarily suspending his paddle, 
he sat for one brief moment almost holding his breath 
with delight. 

Spreading far and wide on either hand, the smooth 
surface had the dull luster of gold in the sunbeams. It 
was flecked here and there by little patches of mist, that 
drifting asunder disclosed small islands thickly covered 
with foliage. Herons and ibis, curlews and kingfishers 
skimmed across the crystal expanse in every direction, 
while the air around was resonant with the chatter of 
parakeets and the twittering of smaller birds of gorgeous 
plumage. 

On every side grew clusters of strange aquatic plants, 
and wonderful pinkish white water-lilies, with a leaf 
six and even eight feet in diameter, which, floating on 
the surface, afforded a resting-place to innumerable 
small water-fowl. 

As the mists rose and dispersed Van saw, a little 
distance ahead, an island of considerable size, rising to 
some height from the water’s edge. Its top was crowned 
by the white walls of what seemed to be a ruined temple, 
and all at once Van’s heart gave a great throb of expec- 
tancy ! 

For, clustered on the summit of the ruin, as though 
it were a watch tower, he made out a group of men. 
He intuitively felt that these were they who should guide 
him to the province and city of Itambez. 


So 


VAN. 


CHAPTER XL 

THE LAST STAGE OF THE JOURNET. 

Were Martin and Tom among them ? This, the up- 
permost thought in Van’s mind, was intensified with 
every stroke of the paddle which sent his little canoe 
swiftly onward toward the island shores. 

He saw that the watchers had suddenly disappeared 
from the walls of the ruin, and were hurrying down the 
hill. At the water’s edge, to his great astonishment, 
Van now discerned a massive stone pier, which though 
evidently of great antiquity, seemed, excepting for a few 
broken fractures across its face, to be in perfect pres- 
ervation. 

But he had no time for closer examination. Surely 
—yes it was , Martin’s tall form followed by the negro 
Tom, pressing on a little in advance of a dozen men, 
who were walking rapidly toward a broad flight of stone 
steps at one side of the pier. 

Springing from the canoe, Van silently grasped in turn 
Martin’s muscular hand and the big black paw of the 
negro, whose mouth was expanded into a wide grin ot 
delight. 

“ Thought you was drownded for sure, Mist’ Briscoe, 9 ’ 
he exclaimed gleefully; “ but dem yere pussons ” — indi- 


VAN . 


81 


eating the group who had halted a little in the rear, “says 
no such t’ing — but you was boun’ to come anyhow.” 

“But, in the name of all that’s wonderful, Mr. Briscoe, 
tell us where you disappeared so suddenly, and how,” 
said Bob Martin, eagerly. Van explained in a few brief 
words, interrupted now and then by an astonished ex- 
clamation from his hearers. 

Their own story was soon told. As Van had conjec- 
tured, they abandoned the boat at the beginning of the 
rapids, and made their way along the eastern bank of 
the river, meeting with hardships and privations similar 
to those encountered by Van, besides — as Tom expressed 
it — being scared out of a year’s growth by the shock of 
the earthquake. 

A runner from Itambez had met them on their arrival 
on the lake shore a couple of days before. He had 
brought a message to the lake dwellers, who were sub- 
jects of Itambezi, though an inferior race of people. 

In effect this message was that the wise men of the 
city had announced the coming of strangers — three in 
number — whose arrival at Canuma Lake was to be 
watched for, after which they were to be guided safely 
to the city. 

“I knew,” said Bob Martin with a simple earnestness 
contrasting strongly with Van’s half incredulous smile, 
“that if the wise men had said that three strangers were 
coming, then you, Mr. Briscoe, must be all safe, and 
would put in an appearance sooner or later. I tell you 
it took a big weight from my mind.” 

While they had been talking, the lake dwellers, who 
were not unlike the Mumuru Indians in feature, though 
of much lighter hue, had brought a large raft to the stone 


VAN 


82 

steps, where they stood respectfully waiting instructions. 

They were stolid, uninteresting looking men, wearing 
only short breeches of linen or tow reaching to the 
knee, without any covering for the upper part of the 
person. Tattooed on the broad chest of each was the 
familiar device so often referred to. 

Very different in looks and dress was the Itambez 
runner, even though he by no means represented the 
higher types of his people. He had regular and ex* 
pressive features, tanned by contact with sun and wind. 
His hair, unlike that of the lake dwellers, or Pescados, 
as they are called, was cut short to a well shaped head, 
while his dress consisted of a light, sleeveless tunic, and 
sandals of dressed hide, in addition to the short trousers 
worn by the others. 

So attired — as Martin told Van — the runner, who 
acted as a courier to convey important messages from 
one part of the province to another, could cover from 
forty to fifty miles between sun and sun. 

Martin addressed the latter in his own language, and 
he in turn gave some command to the Pescados. The 
entire party then embarked on the raft, which was 
rigged with mast and sail, and an hour later were safely 
deposited at the opposite end of the lake, near the 
mouth of the Canuma river, which flowed into it from 
the canyon of the Cordilleras. 

Here was a village of neatly built wooden dwellings, 
raised some six to ten feet above the surface of the 
lake on cedar pilings. 

Every house had its canoe or raft fastened beneath 
it, while a platform that could be removed at pleasure 
connected one dwelling with another, and all with the 
shore. 


VAN 


83 


At the largest of the houses the three sat down to an 
appetizing meal of fried fish from the lake. Then 
began the last part of the journey to Itambez. 

Four of the Pescados went ahead, clearing the way 
through the matted underbrush and vines by means 
of a heavy knife like an elongated cleaver. 

The remainder, who were armed with bows and 
arrows, acted both as escort and burden-bearers — pro- 
visions for a three days’ journey being taken. 

Ascending a vast extent of table land, where few 
trees were growing, they took their way due south, 
following the course of the river, which flowed below 
in a deep hollow between the foothills. 

Long grass, cactus and tangled lianas impeded the 
way, and without the knives it would have been an 
impossibility to have proceeded. But so wonderfully 
grand was the scenery of the mountains, whose base 
they were slowly nearing, that these minor discomforts 
were disregarded. 

Above the majestic peaks one rose pre-eminent ; and, 
unlike its fellows, the snow-strewn summit was black- 
ened and streaked in great areas, while mingling with 
the clouds about the truncated cone was a murky 
thread of smoke, which, like the guide established foi 
the Israelites, was a pillar of cloud by day and a pillai 
of fire by night. 

For this was the volcanic peak called Escomada— 
“ the cone of flame ” — whose internal fires had been foi 
centuries smouldering in the heart of the mountain. 

But for the past year slight eruptions had taken place, 
and the blackening of the snow, which Van had 
noticed, was produced by the intense heat, though no 
lava had overflowed the crater. 


84 


VAN-. 


How this seemingly impassable barrier of mountain 
was to be surmounted Van could not conceive, nor was 
Martin any wiser than himself His own previous 
entry into Itambez had been under very different 
circumstances. 

It will be remembered that Mr. Richard Briscoe and 
himself were the only survivors of the shipwreck on the 
coast of Peru. Making their way inland toward the 
nearest point of civilization, they had been taken prison- 
ers by a wandering and bloodthirsty tribe of Indians, 
who, having destined them for slaves, carried them into 
the interior, beyond the Peruvian boundaries. 

Fortunately, they were rescued by some friendly 
natives belonging within the province of Itambezi, and 
by them conducted through an apparently insurmount- 
able mountain pass, among the southern ranges of the 
Cordilleras, to the city itself. 

But on the northern boundary there was no sign of 
break or pass excepting the terrible canyon, through 
which the Canuma, dividing the city, made its exit, and 
thence flowed between the table lands to the Canuma 
lake. The canyon itself was, of course, impassable. 
How — 

The silvery tinkle of a bell interrupted Van’s conjec- 
tures on this particular point, as, on the morning of the 
third day after leaving the lake, Quipo, the runner, 
commanded a halt on a gentle slope leading upward to 
the base of the mighty range whose sides showed no 
sign of human presence. 

Round a projecting spur came a train of small yellow- 
ish brown animals, suggestive of the western burro, or 
diminutive donkey, yet not in the least resembling 
them. 


That they were Peruvian llamas, Van knew from the 
pictures he had seen of the gentle beasts. With soft, 
beseeching eyes and timid action, the drove — ten in 
number — followed their leader, who wore the bell, 
while a pretty, dark-skinned girl walked by its side. 


VAN. 


86 


CHAPTER XII. 

OVER THE CORDILLERAS. 

At the sight of the three Europeans, with Quipo and 
the attendant Pescados, the girl waved her hand and 
uttered a low whistle. The well-trained animals came 
to a sudden stop. 

“ Everything has been looked out for, you see,” re- 
marked Martin quietly, as the remaining provisions 
were transferred to pack saddles worn by part of the 
llamas. Then the Pescados silently made their peculiar 
gesture of adieu, and filed away in the direction from 
which they had come. 

A few words were exchanged between Quipo and the 
girl leader of the llamas, who signed to the strangers, 
whom she regarded with considerable curiosity, to 
mount the three largest of the docile animals. She her- 
self walked on ahead, accompanied by Quipo and fol- 
lowed by the leader and the remaining llamas in single 
file. 

It was all so strange and unreal that none of the trio 
seemed disposed for conversation. Martin was the 
most composed of the whole party — the negro Tom the 
most dazed and astounded. 

Van did not suffer his own sensations of surprise and 


VAN. 


8? 

bewilderment to come to the surface, and gradually the 
grandeur of the wonderful mountain scenery swallowed 
up all other emotions. 

At first a mere footpath cut through the thick under- 
brush which covered the lower slopes, wound in a zigzag 
direction up the cliffs. As the sides grew steeper, the 
ascent became more and more difficult. Yet the llamas 
toiled patiently on — the peculiar construction of their 
clawlike hoof enabling them to keep a foothold where 
nothing else but a chamois or mountain goat could 
make progress. 

As the sun disappeared behind the lofty range, send- 
ing an indescribable glory of gold and crimson flashing 
among the snowy peaks, the air grew visibly colder. 

But this, too, had been provided for. From the back 
of one of the pack animals a heavy bundle was un- 
strapped and opened. Long warm cloaks woven from 
the soft wool of the vicuna, or Peruvian goat, were 
produced, and quickly donned by the entire party. 

And so on and upward, when lo, a gap or rift in the 
mountain side revealed itself to the astonished eyes of 
the three newcomers, through which extended a mili- 
tary road that was a perfect marvel of engineering. 
Winding irregularly upward, it had been built across 
great ravines on solid bridges of stone masonry that 
had been standing for unnumbered centuries — were 
standing when Pizarro led his little handful of adven- 
turers through the wonderful country he had discov- 
ered. 

Here, an ascent had been cut through solid ledges. 
There, the road clung, so to speak, to the face of a 
precipice. And all the way it was constructed from 


88 


VAN, 


granite blocks and slabs held together by and covered 
with a sort of pitchy asphalt which had hardened into 
the consistency of the stone itself, 

At intervals of ten and fifteen miles small houses of 
entertainment were placed, at one of which the party 
stopped for the night There was nothing out of the 
ordinary in its surroundings, unless I except the natural 
boiling springs which had hollowed out for themselves 
circular chasms in the rocks behind the little inn. Over 
these a rude house had been built, and here the three 
adventurers enjoyed a much needed and refreshing 
bath. 

At the respectful request of Quipo, their ragged, travel- 
stained clothing was left outside the bath house. And 
when it was time to dress, an agreeable surprise awaited 
them. 

Their rags had disappeared, and in their place were 
suits of clean, cool linen. If not stylish in cut, the gar- 
ments were eminently suited to the warmer temperature 
which they were told to expect on the morrow, as the 
road gradually sloped down to their final destination. 

There was no particular mystery about the matter, 
but simply an illustration of Mr. Richard Briscoe’s fore- 
thought. Both himself and Martin had been permitted 
to retain their European style of dress, which in effect 
did not differ so very much from that worn in Itambez. 
Similar clothing had been prepared for his nephew and 
the two others, each differing slightly in quality, that 
intended for Van being by far the finest, and forwarded 
to the mountain house by a runner from the city. 

A small, silent man, who in dress and appearance 
resembled one of the better class Mexicans, officiated 


VAN. 


as a barber. Though his * ‘ kit,*’ carried in a leather bao 
attached to his sash, was of the most primitive kind, he 
made a very creditable job of it 

He never spoke throughout the entire procedure of 
hair cutting and shaving. This seemed quite remark- 
able, until Martin explained that by an edict of the 
province of Xtambez only deaf mutes were allowed to 
practice the tonsorial art 

It was with a strange mixture of sensations that ov 
the following morning Van again took up his journey. 

Even the wonderful beauty of the sunrise, flooding 
the mountain peaks with intense colorings, failed l 
draw his attention excepting for the passing moment 
He was nearing a city the description of which read 
like a fairy tale. A city built more than a thousand 
years before by a people acquainted with many arts, 
and but little removed from a more advanced civiliza* 
tion, whose history was lost to their descendants. 

A city where for successive ages powerful Incas had 
ruled and human sacrifices by thousands been offered 
in the temples. And so on, through successive genera- 
tions of increasing knowledge, till the descendants of. 
this mysterious race — if half what Martin told him was 
true — were a people who stood on a level with European 
civilization in many things, and far above it in some. 

Martin himself betrayed a certain degree of excite- 
ment quite unlike his usual composure, though it was 
mixed with some very pronounced indications of joy at 
once more returning to the city of his choice. And the 
negro Tom, whose former familiarity toward his t wo 
white comrades had given place to a sort of respectful 
recognition of their superior claims, rode silently on 


VAN 


90 

ward by the side of Quipo the runner, in a state ot 
amazed bewilderment at everything he saw. 

Across a terrible chasm a thousand feet deep was a 
frail looking suspension bridge, whose swaying cables 
of twisted magwey fibers were made fast to immense 
stone buttresses on either side of the abyss. 

Rails of the same material extended entirely across, 
while the flooring, if I may so term it, was of plank 
hewn by hand. Long guys were attached to either 
side, yet the structure swung and swayed as the caval- 
cade passed over it, and Van felt a decided sensation of 
relief when the llamas* feet struck the solid rock on the 
opposite side. 

Then the way led through a vast tunnel cut through 
the granite side of the mountain, and lighted at intervals 
by apertures overhead. 

And all at once, as the little party, half blinded by 
the sudden glare of sunlight, emerged again into the 
open day, Quipo and the girl guide, with a simultaneous 
gesture, commanded a pause. 

Turning their faces toward the sun, they reverently 
bowed their heads, while from the lips of each escaped 
the single word ‘ * Itambez / ” 


CHAPTER XIII. 


IN THE STREETS OF ITAMBEZ. 

It is no matter of wonder that Van Briscoe sat 
speechless and motionless as his eyes rested upon the 
wonderful scene before them ! 

“There can be nothing else like it on the face of the 
globe,” is written in his notebook, under the brief 
record of his first sensations on looking down upon 
Itambez. And from what he has told me with his own 
lips, I think the expression is not overdrawn. 

I have said that the province of Itambezi is com- 
pletely surrounded by a mighty ring of mountain 
ranges, among and above which towers the volcanic 
peak of Escomada. 

At the base of the latter, Van saw far beneath, in the 
immense bowl-shaped valley clad in perpetual green, 
a mighty city, walled in like those of ancient days — a 
city whose roofs and towers glistened like burnished 
silver in the sun's rays. 

Behind it the mountain sides rose in terraced slopes. 
The artificial garden enclosures thus formed mounted 
higher and higher, narrowing in proportion, almost to 
the line of separation between the last scanty growth of 
vegetation and the height of perpetual snow. 


92 


VAN. 


A thin, faintly wavering curl of pale blue smoke rose 
from the volcanic cone, half hidden in the drifting 
cloud vapors with which the smoke was blended. 

As far as the eye could reach, the same wonderful 
panorama of terraced hill and mountain sides, trans- 
forming the bleak rocky slopes into fertile fields o.nd 
gardens, met their gaze. A huge fortress commanded 
the entrance to the defile, and below them was the 
Canuma, flowing down from the southern hillsides 
through the city, and across the valley, till it dis- 
appeared in the canyon on the opposite side. 

“ Nebber see not’in’ like dat — nebber I ” emphatically 
exclaimed Tom, breaking the silence. With outstretched 
finger the negro pointed to the wonderful scene, and 
Martin assented with a short nod. Still Van had neither 
words or signs by which to express his own en- 
thusiasm. 

But Quipo was growing impatient, and again the 
little cavalcade was set in motion. The road now 
wound directly downward toward the city, through 
the humbler dwellings and farms of the suburban 
residents. 

Martin, who had laid aside his usual taciturnity, 
pointed out the various objects of interest as they 
passed along. He showed Van how in the wide and 
extensive terrace farms nearer the base of the mountains 
were cultivated only the crops which flourish best in a 
tropical temperature. Higher up were the cereals and 
hardier fruits or flowers ; thus ascending in narrowing 
grades to the colder heights, where only the very 
hardiest could grow. 

He called Van’s attention to the vast stone granaries 


VAN. 


93 

and warehouses containing the manufactured products 
of the country ; the great mint, filled to overflowing 
with gold bricks and blocks from the mines within a 
pistol shot of the city ; and he explained that silver 
itself was not regarded as a circulating medium, but 
was used chiefly as are the baser metals with us. 

And so the travelers passed, with a successive con- 
tinuation of novel sights and sounds, along through the 
outlying suburbs — the cynosure of curious eyes — till 
the city gates were reached. 

Dismounting in obedience to a sign from Quipo, the 
girl, with a graceful obeisance, turned away. She was 
followed by the docile beasts of burden, while Van, in- 
structed by Quipo, Martin acting as interpreter, pre- 
sented the letter which served as a passport to one of 
the half-dozen tall, soldierly-looking guards who stood 
before the great archway. Above the gate the royal 
insignia were deeply cut in the keystone. 

Recognizing the imprint of the seal, the soldier, who 
was dressed in a sleeveless tunic of quilted cotton, and 
armed with a long copper-tipped lance, pressed the 
letter to his forehead. Then he returned it to Van with 
every visible mark of respect, and the guards were 
motioned back. 

In a maze of bewildered astonishment and excite- 
ment, Van passed through the great stone arch, followed 
by his two companions, and in another moment the 
three were standing in the well paved street of one of 
the oldest cities in the world ! 

Yet after all there was little of the marvelous about 
it A sluggish tide of humanity in its various phases 
ebbed through the by no means crowded thoroughfares, 


VAN. 


94 

not differing particu.arly as to types from those one 
might meet in some old Spanish city. 

The dress and language were different from those 
met with by the traveler in foreign countries. Yet the 
former seemed peculiarly adapted to the tropical but 
not overpowering heat, while in the latter Van’s ear 
detected very many Spanish sounding words, which 
he easily interpreted, having taken up Spanish in his 
schoolship studies. 

The people as a whole showed a marked resemblance 
in many respects of form and feature to the highest 
type of the French or Spanish creole, as met at the 
present day in parts of Louisiana. 

If Van had cherished any vague expectations that 
the appearance of the travelers might create anything 
like a sensation, he was doomed to disappointment. 
Curious glances were of course cast in their direction, 
as, guided by Martin, the trio slowly made their way 
toward the great central square of the city. Tom’s 
black face and huge form seemed to attract the prin- 
cipal share of notice. But, as Van soon discovered, 
the people of Itambez seem almost entirely devoid of 
curiosity or inquisitiveness. 

From time to time Martin exchanged quiet greetings 
with one and another, yet as far as any show of effu- 
siveness was concerned, he might have been absent 
from Itambez for a day instead of years. 

The dress of all classes, so far as Van could see, 
was a sort of semi-European garb, only differing in 
quality. 

Shirts and trousers, with a sort of tunic or blouse of 
white or cream colored linen, or a thin perfectly water- 


VAN. 


95 

proof cloth, woven from goats’ hair, was the prevailing 
attire. A hat, woven from some peculiar species of 
rushes, and sandals, or a sort of low shoe, made of soft 
dressed leather, completed the easy and graceful cos- 
tume. 

But it must be remembered that the province of Itam- 
bezi is between the fifth and sixth parallels of southern 
latitude. The temperature of the city proper seldom 
rose above 90 0 or fell below 8o° the year round. Yet 
there was enough humidity in the air to produce warm 
drenching dews at night, rendering unnecessary the 
prolonged rainy season met in the regions upon the 
equator. Occasional brief showers swept down from 
the mountains during three months of the year, but for 
the rest it might be said that it was a country bathed 
in perpetual sunshine. 

The women, both young and middle-aged, (for Van 
saw no persons of either sex who might be called old,) 
were without exception strikingly beautiful. A white 
waist and rather short skirt of the same material, with 
a shoe of soft, untanned leather, was the quite universal 
garb. The head was uncovered, save for its glossy 
coils of abundant hair, while a few wore a sort of 
scarf of crimson silk thrown lightly over their shapely 
shoulders. 

But there was no chance for further observation of 
the manners and customs of this interesting people. 
The travelers had reached the great square, bordered 
on its four sides by massive stone buildings two and 
three stories high, which, as Martin explained, were 
set apart for the use of the city. There was a council 
chamber, another corresponding in certain respects to 


VAN 


90 

a house of parliament, another for astrological pursuits, 
and still another known as the Temple. 

“And now, Mr. Briscoe,” said Martin, suddenly, 
“pull yourself together— for if my eyes don't deceive 
me, Mr. Richard Briscoe himself is coming to mm 
you.” 


CHAPTER XIV. 


A DAUGHTER OF ITAMBEZ. 

Van Briscoe’s heart beat tumultuously. Following 
the direction of Martin’s gaze, he saw approaching them 
from one of the city buildings a tall, well built man, 
with a heavy flowing beard and hair as dark as Van’s 
own, neither showing a thread of gray. 

His own father Van could but indistinctly recall, yet 
Captain Peterson had more than once spoken of the 
wonderful resemblance between the twin brothers, James 
and Richard, in their younger days. So it was that in 
the features of his uncle he felt that he saw the reflected 
likeness of the father who had died when he was a mere 
boy. 

It was plainly evident that Richard Briscoe, despite 
his identification with a people among whom strong 
emotions would seem to be unknown, had not lost the 
power of being moved. 

Something very much like moisture was in his dark 
eyes as he walked directly toward Van, who stepped 
forward to meet him. He grasped both of the boy’s 
hands in his own, while Martin and the negro dropped 
respectfully to the rear. 

“ My brother, then, is”— here he hesitated, but added 
^dead” in a lower tone. “And you, whom I should 


9 g fTAl V. 

have known to be his son even had your coming not 
been foreseen,” he went on, “you are ” 

“Vance Briscoe, Uncle Richard,” was the reply, in a 
voice which trembled never so slightly as he intently 
returned the cordial hand clasp given him by Mr. 
Briscoe, who then quickly addressed himself to the 
sailor. 

“Martin, I’m glad, though not surprised, to see you 
back,” he said, quietly. “I fancy,” he added, with a 
keen glance at the sailor's slightly embarrassed face, 
“that you didn’t find much pleasure, or profit, either, in 
going back into the world.” 

“We won’t speak of that, Mr. Briscoe,” hurriedly re- 
turned Martin, over whose bronzed face a flush of 
shame had passed ; “ it is enough that I am back, and 
never want to go outside the city walls till I’m carried 
out, toes first, to the burial cave.” 

Mr. Briscoe smiled, and shrugged his shoulders, with- 
out replying directly. 

“Well, Martin,” he said, “you'd better take your 
companion to the house with you, and to-morrow I’ll 
hear your story— or so much of it as you wish to tell — 
adios. ” 

Thus saying, Mr. Briscoe with rather scant ceremony 
turned away. Leaving the two men to follow at their 
leisure, he took Van gently by the arm, and walked 
away precisely as he would if he had met him in any of 
our great cities. 

“There are a thousand questions to ask and answer, 
my dear boy,” he said, gravely returning the respectful 
salutations of one after another of those who were pass- 
ing and repassing ; 4< but there is abundant time for it 


VAN. 


99 

all. I want you to meet my Ninada, of whom Bob has 
probably told you, first of all. ” 

From the great square they passed through one of four 
archways leading into wide, well paved streets. 

As in a Spanish or Mexican city, there was a notice- 
able absence of noise or bustle. An occasional llama 
— the only beast of burden to be met in the city, lightly 
dressed porters carrying bales or wicker panniers of 
food or merchandise on their shoulders, fruit and flower 
venders, and passing pedestrians, moved leisurely 
along, but there were no signs of hurry, much less of 
confusion. 

The buildings were universally constructed of stone 
or sun-dried brick, sometimes painted in yellow or dark 
red, with flat tiled roofs. Here and there were more 
pretentious structures, one of which was a Temple of 
the Sun, from which nearly four hundred years before 
an invading band of Spaniards had carried away golden 
trappings and ornaments amounting to almost a million 
pesos. 

As they went along, Mr. Briscoe explained that a 
large part of the city remained precisely as it had been 
built unnumbered centuries before, so thorough and 
perfect had been the work of the unknown builders. 
Xalaqua, the governor of the province, several of the 
council, and other officers, who had become greatly 
interested in Mr. Briscoe’s account of European arts 
and customs, had set artisans to work remodeling to 
some extent the houses built by their ancestors. Mr. 
Briscoe, who was the chief magistrate of the city, had 
himself done the same. 

All this, with much more of detail which I cannot 


100 


VAX. 


here give, Mr. Briscoe, whose dress was very much 
like that affected by a well-to-do Calcutta merchant, 
explained as they walked along. 

The wealthiest part of the city was built on gently 
ascending slopes, against the side of Escomada. Here, 
situated in a perfect wilderness of the most luxuriant 
growth of tropic vegetation that ever gladdened the 
heart and eyes of a lover of the beautiful, was Mr. 
Briscoe’s home. 

Like many of those in South America, the flat-roofed 
structure was built around a square courtyard, entered 
by arches beneath the upper rooms. Every chamber 
opened upon a balcony looking down into the yard, 
where a fountain perpetually sent up its silvery jets 
among great aloes and tree ferns in stone vases almost 
as old as the pyramids of Egypt 

The wide veranda, commanding a view of the city 
and fertile valley, was a mass of odorous blossoming 
foliage, such as no other clime could produce. 

Van’s heart was beating considerably faster than 
usual. And as he followed Mr. Briscoe in silence up 
a flight of stone steps, worn in little hollows by the 
feet of successive generations, hardly knowing whether 
he was on his head or his heels, he stopped with a little 
exclamation. 

Now just here I have to hesitate for a moment For 
when Van’s notebook speaks of suddenly coming upon 
the most beautiful young girl he had ever dreamed of 
seeing, I have to pause. But I have seen Ninada her- 
self, after all. And perhaps I can imagine how she ap- 
peared to Van’s delighted and astonished gaze as she 
stepped forward, without the slightest seeming embar- 


VAN 


IOI 


rassment, and placed two slender white hands in Van’s 
brown palm, at a signal from her father. 

Ninada was then only fifteen, but in face and form 
she seemed at least two years older. Her features were 
exquisite, her complexion that of the clearest brunette, 
with the unfathomable dusky eyes of a Spanish senorita. 

Her wonderful wealth of silky black hair, shot through 
with a natural ripple, was coiled deftly about her small 
head, and there confined by a golden arrow incrusted 
with diamonds. 

A simple flowing robe of some creamy white fabric, 
encircled at the slender waist by a crimson sash of 
quaint workmanship, fell in unconfined folds to her 
small feet 

“This is your Cousin Van, Ninada,” said her father. 
Van, coloring through his sunburned skin, murmured 
something unintelligible, and unconsciously gave a 
slight pressure to the girl's slim white hands before 
relinquishing them. 

“As the wise men said, my brother James is no 
longer living,” continued Mr. Briscoe, with a sigh; 
“ and it is his son who has come these thousands of 
miles to claim what I have set apart for my kith and 
kin.” 

“How brave you must be, my cousin,” said the 
young girl, in clear musical tones. 

There was much to be said and told on both sides, 
but only the briefest explanations were then entered 
upon. Mr. Briscoe was soon called away. Then, sit- 
ting on a broad stone bench under the cooling shade, 
Van listened with eager interest while Ninada, with 
charming frankness, took her new found friend at once 
into her confidence. 


102 


VAN. 


With her soft dark eyes shining through tear drops, she 
spoke of the mother she had lost in helpless infancy. 
She told of the loving care of her father, who from the 
first had shown a desire that his Ninada should learn 
and know of European manners and customs so far as 
they did not conflict with those peculiar to the province 
of Itambez. 

So it was that she not only spoke his own language 
as readily as that of her country, but she was by no 
means ignorant of the social laws and requirements of 
ordinary civilization, as well as of a great many other 
matters pertaining to the world without, all of which 
had been told and taught her by her father. 


VAN. 


10 $ 


CHAPTER XV. 

£N A GOLDEN CITY. 

Mr. Briscoe’s household, as Van learned, consisted of 
himself, Ninada, and a young fellow named Flores, to 
whom Mr. Briscoe had acted as guardian since the death 
of his parents — Flores’s father having been chief magis- 
trate before Van’s uncle. 

“Flores is very nice-looking, and speaks your lan- 
guage even better than I do,” said Ninada, slowly. 
“ Father has taken great pains to teach and tell him 
about your country, and he is very intelligent and in- 
teresting; but ” 

And here she stopped, with her slim finger just touch- 
ing her lips, as a slenderly built young fellow, dressed 
very much after the manner of his guardian, glided sud- 
denly from the arching doorway and confronted the two. 

“Flores,” said Ninada — and Van fancied that he de- 
tected the least shade of pride in her tone and manner 
“this is my Cousin Vance from the far-away country 
father has told about. His father is no longer living, so 
he has himself come in answer to my father’s letter.” 

“So I see,” was the cool and easy reply. But he 
smiled as he spoke, and extended his hand in true Euro- 
pean style. Yet as Van took it he had an intuitive feel- 


204 


VAN. 


ing that under this seeming show of courtesy was an 
indefinable something suggestive of a subtle enmity. 

And on his own part Van was conscious of a sudden 
feeling of dislike for this young fellow, with the form of 
a youthful Apollo, and his dark, finely cut features. 
But this perhaps arose from a spice of jealousy. 

Like Ninada herself, Flores in speech and manner 
showed every outward mark of refinement and good 
breeding. Neither of them appeared like young people 
who had been isolated from the world. Ninada pro- 
nounced her words with a slight trace of the Spanish 
accent peculiar to her own language, which itself added 
a grace to her conversation. 

Flores would have passed for a well educated young 
Spaniard or Brazilian in almost any society. And this 
was due in part to the natural aptitude as well as the 
real intellect of the race from which they had descended, 
and partly to the careful and thorough teaching of Mr. 
Briscoe himself. 

When Van’s uncle returned a little later, Van very 
modestly was telling of all that had befallen him since 
sailing in the schooner Rattler. Ninada, to whom the 
narrative was a new revelation, sat half reclining in a 
silk hammock, drinking in every word with rapt atten- 
tion. Flores, with folded arms, stood leaning against 
one of the vine-entwined stone pilasters, trying with 
but indifferent success to conceal his own evident 
interest in Van’s story. 

Then Mr. Briscoe himself began questioning Van con- 
cerning the death of his twin brother, Van's father. The 
latter could only tell the little he had learned from Cap- 
tain Peterson. Captain James Briscoe had died of coast 


VAN. 


105 

fever on the return passage from the south coast of 
Africa, and been buried at sea. Van himself being not 
quite three years old at the time. There was a small 
sum of money left for the support of the orphaned child, 
whom Captain Peterson had informally adopted as soon 
as he knew of Captain Briscoe’s death. And the good 
captain had been a true father to his adopted son. 

Then followed the story of Martin’s appearance in 
America with Richard Briscoe’s letter, and the results 
with which the reader is acquainted. After this Van 
described his unexpected meeting with Martin in Para, 
which none of his hearers thought in the least strange. 

* * You will see and hear far stranger things before you 
leave Itambez,” said Mr. Briscoe with a smile ; after 
which a grave looking servant with distinctively Indian 
features gave the summons to dinner. 

Mr. Briscoe had tried to introduce European fashions 
and habits into his own household as far as possible. 
And as Van learned later, many of the inhabitants of 
Itambez — particularly the higher orders of society — had 
copied them to a greater or less extent 

And so in a large cool apartment, whose stone walls 
were fantastically frescoed in quaint patterns and colors, 
a table was spread, and around it were cushioned seats 
of mahogany, inlaid with mother of pearl. 

The meal itself was of the most appetizing order, 
though prepared in a manner not unlike that employed 
in Mexican or Spanish cookery. There were fish from 
the river, ortolans from the valley, and mutton from the 
mountain uplands. There was sherbet cooled with snow 
from the Cordilleran peaks, and fragrant coffee grown 
within a pistol shot of the estate, with such a profusion 


io6 


VAN. 


of fruits as no description of mine can do justice to. 

But it was not so much the richness and variety of 
the repast which excited Vans secret wonder and ad- 
miration, as the service itself. 

Now I am perfectly aware that I must speak guard- 
edly respecting certain features of Itambez, lest this story 
of Van Briscoe’s be regarded as a fanciful record ot 
impossible fiction. 

Yet I am forced to mention the display of dishes and 
plate which graced the table. There were solid silver 
and solid gold bowls and vases, some of them bearing 
marks of great antiquity. Cups and plates- of the same 
precious metals, hammered and worked into the quaint- 
est and strangest of devices, were placed before every 
guest. There was no glassware, but in its place most 
beautiful glazed pottery, some as fragile and delicate as 
the rarest porcelain, others wrought into wonderfully 
artistic designs. 

Silent servants in half European garb glided softly to 
and from the room, the atmosphere of which was cooled 
by an ever moving punkah suspended above the table, 
precisely as in an East Indian bungalow. 

The long, narrow apertures in the stone sides of the 
room, which served as windows, were curtained on 
the outside with flowering foliage, from which came 
strange spicy odors not unlike those of the tube-rose. 
In fact, the entire surroundings and scene were sug- 
gestive of an Arabian Nights’ entertainment. 

From the conversation carried on during the meal, 
Van learned quite a good deal regarding the govern- 
ment of the city and province. The chief executive was 
Xalaqua the governor. His power was limited by a 


VAN ; 


107 

council of ten of the wisest and best among the citizens. 
The chief magistrate was also his adviser, while under 
the latter were subordinate officers of lesser grade and 
rank. 

Crime was of rare occurrence, and punished with 
instant death by beheading. Lesser offenses, such as 
stealing, assaults, and the hundred other petty criminal- 
ities peculiar to cities throughout the world, were them- 
selves by no means common. 

This is not strange, for two very especial reasons. 
In the first place, the vast mineral and agricultural 
wealth of the province gave every man more than 
abundance — all he had to do was to seek it Poverty 
was unknown, hence no man coveted his neighbors 
wealth. 

And in the second place, intoxicants were banished 
from city and province alike, by the sternest of prohib- 
itory edicts. Even the lighter wines, such as are man- 
ufactured from native grapes the world over, were 
wanting in Itambez. Their use in sickness was not 
needed, for the reason that sickness itself was rare in 
that equable temperature and health-giving air. And 
where intoxicants are not found in any form, there you 
will notice a corresponding absence of crime in its 
various phases. 

That Van should at once begin to learn the easy 
language was his uncle’s first definite proposition. 
And that Ninada herself should be his teacher, afforded 
as much secret delight to Van as ill-concealed vexation 
to Flores. But Mr. Briscoe had his reasons for thus 
doing, so the matter was settled then and there. 

One day in Itambez was the delightful counterpart 
of that preceding it, and the one following. 


io8 


FA AT. 


Van generally rose before the sun had shown his 
ruddy face behind the eastern crest of the mountain 
ranges. And when he went out into the open court- 
yard or upon the veranda, ten to one Ninada was there. 
Sometimes with great masses of rare blossoms in her 
white arms, for the decoration of the quaint interior, 
at other times feeding some one of the numerous pets 
of which almost every family in Itambez kept one or 
more. 

There was a tiny spider monkey, a pair of tame 
toucans, and at least half a dozen parrots and parra- 
keets, that were suffered to fly at will about the courtyard. 
A long legged white ibis was generally seen gravely 
stalking — storking, Van said — behind his beautiful 
young mistress, as she roamed through the wonderful 
terraced garden, which itself was like a glance into fairy- 
land. Pet squirrels ate from her hand, a chameleon 
perched contentedly, if changefully, on her shoulder, and 
even Pedro, the armadillo, would thrust his head from 
its shell at her call. 

Flores, whose room adjoined Van's was indolent, and 
seldom left his hammock till long after the others, so 
that Van and Ninada were left much to their own 
devices in the morning hour. 

And it was wonderful how fast Van Briscoe acquired 
the musical language spoken in Itambez. 

Blessed with magnificent health, the young girl was 
indefatigable in showing her cousin the “ sights” of 
the city. 

True, there were no theaters or concerts, ball rooms 
or picture galleries. But there were temples with pic- 
tured walls, and hieroglyphics in indelible colors, 


VAN 


log 


recording the deeds of other dynasties ; where grave 
looking robed priests officiated in rites that had de- 
scended down through generations. 

There were the halls and council chambers, where 
stood full length statues of famous warriors or statesmen 
of their own race, skillfully wrought in solid silver. 

There were the open workshops of the various arti- 
sans along the business street, where gold and silver 
were wrought into beautiful and curious designs. There 
were the lapidaries’ shops where piles of uncut gems from 
the mines and river beds of the province lay heaped up 
on the benches within reach of the passers by ; armorers, 
who by a secret process gave the hammered copper 
the temper of Damascus steel, and venders of rare stuffs, 
rivaling those of the foreign bazaars, woven in rude 
looms set up and worked before the eyes of the pur- 
chaser. 


no 


VAM 


CHAPTER XVI. 

VAN MAKES AN ENEMY. 

But the most impressive and wonderful of all the 
sights of Itambez, according to Van’s account, was 
what he saw in the great burial cave beyond the city 
walls, whither he was accompanied by Ninada and 
Flores — the latter having taken it into his handsome 
head to accompany the cousins whenever it was possi- 
ble — not always to the satisfaction of the young girl or 
her escort. 

“ I used to think much of Flores when we were both 
younger ; he almost seemed like a brother to me then,” 
Ninada confided to Van one day, “but for the past 
year he is — somehow different.” And Van wondered 
whether it was the little flush which crossed the girl’s 
fair cheek as she spoke, that suddenly suggested to his 
own mind what the difference might consist in. 

The burial cave was itself a vast cavern of almost 
infinite extent, running far back into the bowels of one 
of the mountains adjoining Escomada. 

Massive sculptured pillars engraved with strange 
characters stood on either side of the lofty entrance. 
Just inside was the temple, where the last burial rights 
were performed. 


VAN. 


III 


Preceded by guides with torches, the three walked 
slowly through immense arches and galleries of the 
dead. Laid on shelves of stone, or in separate niches, 
were the bodies of young and old. So wonderful is the 
process of embalming perfected in Itambezi, that, in 
connection with the preservative power of the cave 
atmosphere, it made it almost impossible for the stranger 
to discriminate between those who had lain there in 
their last sleep for a century and those borne to their 
silent resting-place but a few days before. 

In a separate part of the cavern was the resting-place 
of the Incas. Here with bowed heads and crossed 
hands, sitting upon golden chairs, as in life, were the 
embalmed bodies of successive generations of rulers, 
attired in their kingly robes. 

As Van has since said, there was nothing repulsive 
or even ghastly in these strange forms of death, upon 
which time had been unable to leave his trace for 
centuries. 

It was rather awe-inspiring, and then, too, no one in 
Itambez seemed to look upon death with anything 
approaching fear. 

Reverently and with uncovered head, Van stood with 
Ninada by the side of her beautiful mother, as beautiful 
in death as in life ; and very tenderly the young girl 
touched her lips, first to the broad white forehead, then 
to the folded waxen hands. 

“ Why should I weep?” she said, quietly, in answer 
to some whispered remark from Flores. “ My mother 
is only sleeping.” For as Van afterward knew, the 
people of Itambez have a full faith in a future life, 
where the good are happy and the wicked punished. 


112 


VAAT. 


Then there were excursions into the beautiful sur- 
rounding country and up the mountain sides, on the 
sure footed llamas. And all the while Van was becom- 
ing more and more closely bound, not only to Itam- 
bez, but to Ninada. 

Thus far, neither Mr. Briscoe, nor his daughter, nor 
Martin, who acted as a sort of confidential steward for 
Van's uncle, had made the slightest direct allusion to 
the one main object of Van's visit to Itambez. 

It is needless to say that Van himself made none. 
Indeed, so wrapped up was he in his present surround- 
ings, that past and future alike seemed to have slipped 
away from him, and he was content to dream and drift 

Tom, the negro, seemed to share a similar state of 
feeling. He was employed by Mr. Briscoe as a head 
gardener, with a dozen or more subordinates under 
him, so that Van occasionally met him. 

“Tell you what, Mist’ Briscoe," he would sometimes 
say, with the broadest kind of smile, “ any one dat 
would leave dis here Paradise without he was druv out 
by the angel wid a flamin' sword, mus’ be de bigges’ 
kind ob fool ; " and Van mentally agreed with him. 

Now, whether Flores had ever been told concerning 
the inheritance Van had come to take away from Itam* 
bez, the latter could not tell. His manner toward Van 
was outwardly courteous, but he seldom made much 
conversation with him, excepting when making inqui- 
ries as to matters connected with the outer world, in 
which he seemed far more interested than in his own 
surroundings. Yet Van was conscious of being contin- 
ually watched by a pair of glittering eyes, whose owner 
bore him anything but good will. And he could assign 


VAN. 


H3 

but one cause for the other’s unfriendly attitude — 
namely, jealousy. 

For that Flores had something more than a friendly 
regard for his guardian’s daughter was very plain. In 
our own more temperate climates this would have 
seemed merely a youthful folly to be quickly out- 
grown. But among races who dwell in the tropics there 
is a different order of things. 

The clear moonlight was flooding the city with an 
almost noonday radiance. A wonderful stillness reigned 
in every locality. There were none of the sounds of 
tramping feet and rumbling wheels — of loud voices or 
of clanging church bells, as in our own great marts of 
busy trade. 

Van had been enjoying a stroll by himself in the 
public square, where in the cool of the evening and 
beauty of the moon rays, many of the younger people 
of Itambez were lingering. 

Many bright eyes were turned approvingly upon the 
manly form and regular features of the young stranger 
from another land, whose presence had now become 
familiar to many in the city. 

But it occurred to Van, as he turned away from the 
wonderfully beautiful scene, and made his way through 
the quiet streets, that among all the fair faces he had 
seen that evening there were none so lovely as that of 
his cousin Ninada. 

Now, this is no love story, please understand. Yet 
the threads of these two young lives were so curiously 
woven — by fate or by Providence as you may choose 
to think— that this natural element has to have its place. 
And surely there is nothing more beautiful than a pure 


VAN. 


1 14 

affection between two of the opposite sex, in early life. 

Occasionally Van encountered a drowsy night watch- 
man in his quilted tunic, and with his helmet shaped 
cap overlaid with plates of silver. Carrying a sort of 
halberd as the mark of his calling, he patrolled his pre- 
cinct in a prefunctory sort of way, yet in this happy 
city his office was the merest sinecure. 

Thinking what a strange contrast it all was to the 
sights and sounds to which he had been accustomed, 
Van walked slowly up the gentle grassy slope leading 
to Ninada’s home, half hoping he might find the young 
girl alone on the stone veranda. 

Ninada was there, but not alone. As Van was about 
ascending the steps he heard the voice of Flores, speak- 
ing in a decidedly melodramatic manner, on the other 
side of the leafy curtain which extended from one stone 
pilaster to another. 

“I tell you, Ninada, I hate him ! ” 

Intuition told Van that he himself was the subject of 
this little ebullition of feeling, and, though it was not 
the perfectly correct thing to do, he stood a moment to 
hear Ninada’s reply. 

“But why?” she said, calmly. “Van has never 
harmed you.” 

“ He has ; and no one knows better than you how ! ” 
was the reply, in a voice of repressed passion. “Be- 
fore he came,” Flores went on impetuously, as the 
rustle of the young girl’s dress showed that she had 
risen to her feet, “you were very different toward me, 
you ” 

“Flores, I will not stop to hear you speak in such a 
way,” quickly interrupted the young girl. 


VAN . 


115 

As she thus said, Ninada turned and walked rapidly 
toward the top of the steps, midway of which Van was 
standing. 

Flores, whose ungoverned temper had never known 
the slightest restraint, sprang after her, and seized her 
slender wrist in his grasp. 

“You shall stop ! ” he fiercely exclaimed. 

As Ninada, with a slight cry, tried to release herself, 
Van, feeling his blood tingling to his finger tips, stood 
before him. 

“ You will let go Ninada's wrist,” he said, as calmly 
as he could ; yet there was a suggestion of menace in 
his voice. 

“Not at your bidding ! ” scornfully replied the now 
infuriated young man. 

In another moment Flores’s wrists were pinioned in a 
grip to which Van's anger gave additional strength, and 
as the former involuntarily relaxed his hold, Ninada 
sprang away from him. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


A REVELATION. 

The two young men stood for a moment facing each 
other, Van’s calm though determined face being in 
marked contrast to the anger distorted features of his 
antagonist. Then, with a fierce wrench, Flores re- 
leased himself, and as he did so thrust his hand quickly 
inside the folds of his loose shirt with a suggestive 
motion. 

But as Van instinctively stepped backward a strange 
thing occurred. 

Can you imagine a passing zephyr taking shape for a 
brief second ? Van tells me he has no other way of ex- 
pressing himself concerning it. Between himself and 
Flores drifted a half seen shadowy mist, having neither 
shape nor substance. Van felt a slight breath across 
his hot cheek — and it was gone ! 

Possibly it was a tiny cloud of night vapor wafted 
down from the mountain side, but however that may 
be, Flores grew deathly pale, and, uttering a low ejacula- 
tion, withdrew his hand from its hiding-place — empty. 
Then, without speaking a word, he turned, and hurry- 
ing down the steps, disappeared in the shadows. 

Rather perplexed, yet unconscious of any reason 
for particular wonderment, Van looked inquiringly at 


VAN. 


117 

Ninada, who betrayed no sign of emotion further than a 
quickened movement of breathing, as she stood with 
slightly parted lips looking in the direction Flores had 
taken. 

“ Did he hurt your wrist, Ninada? ” gently asked Van, 
breaking the momentary silence. 

“Oh, no,” she said quietly, as she suffered Van to 
lead her to the stone seat where the two sat in silence. 

Ninada seemed to be hesitating as though she had 
something very particular to say, and yet had not for- 
mulated her words as she wished. And having seen 
for himself that the young girl’s wrist was uninjured, 
Van was taking advantage of her preoccupation by re- 
taining her hand, under pretence of examining a very 
remarkable ring on one of her fingers. 

“Cousin Van,” finally said Ninada in a voice that was 
slightly tremulous, “my father and I have had a long 
and important conversation to-day— and — I want to tell 
you regarding it.” 

“I am listening,” was the quiet reply. 

“My mother,” Ninada went on slowly, “was the 
daughter of one of the wisest men in the city. Of 
course it sounds incredible and perhaps foolish to you,” 
she continued with a wistful smile, ‘ ‘ but our wise men 
do and understand some very strange things that per- 
haps you would hardly believe if I told you. 

At one time Van's matter of fact nature would have 
secretly scoffed at such an assertion. 

But since his stay in Itambez, he himself had seen 
and heard a number of curious illustrations of optical 
delusions that rather went beyond anything he had 
known before. 


1 1 8 


VAN. 


For example. A person corresponding- to an East 
Indian fakir had taken his place on the smooth-shaven 
lawn — his few requirements being carried in an em- 
broidered pouch at his sash. 

The inexplicable feat of the seed growing, familiar to 
most East Indian travelers, had been performed. The 
pomegranate stone placed in the earth and covered with 
transparent gauze had grown to a height of ten inches, 
and shot out little branches, before Van’s astonished 
eyes. A twig plucked from a flowering shrub, and 
stripped downward between the fingers, had thrown off 
a score of tiny shining lizards, which went scampering 
off through the grass. 

Three translucent globes of some waxy substance, 
tossed one by one into the air, had there remained mov- 
ing slowly about each other, only to return at the fakir’s 
command. And so on. 

Then, too, he had seen a tiny bit of paper flutter down 
from somewhere overhead and fall at Mr. Briscoe’s 
elbow, which being opened was found to be a message 
from some of the wise men. 

And so while Van had seen nothing that came strictly 
under the head of the supernatural, he had been greatly 
puzzled at certain phenomena, of which I have just 
given illustrations. 

“The — whatever it was which passed between Flores 
and myself seemed strange to me” finally returned Van. 

Ninada smiled, but offered no explanation. 

“ I hardly know how to go on,” she slowly continued, 
“because those of your own race believe so differently ; 
yet ” 

“But you are partly one of my own race, ” eagerly 


VAN. 


XI 9 

interrupted Van — and probably it was this reflection 
which made him draw a little nearer his fair relative, 
who did not seem in the least offended. 

“ Yes,” Ninada answered slowly ; “but then, except- 
ing from my father himself, I have only heard the teach- 
ings of my mother’s people. But I will tell you frankly, 
as my father told me to do,” she said, suddenly, “ and I 
know you will neither laugh at nor ridicule me.” 

“Never,” returned Van, with more emphasis than the 
occasion would seem to call for ; and Ninada, lowering 
her voice involuntarily, went on ; 

“From something told her by my grandfather,” she 
half whispered, “ my mother believed that it would be 
unsafe for me to remain in Itambez from my sixteenth 
to my seventeeth year; so she made father promise 
just before she died that I should leave the country. 
That is what he had to tell me — with other things — to- 
day.” 

“To leave Itambezi !” responded Van, in tones of 
strong amazement. “But where would you go, 
Ninada ? ” 

“ To your own land — when you are ready to go back, ,y 
was the reply, and I do not wonder that as he heard it, 
Van gave a great start of astonishment 


130 


VAN 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE SMOKING VOLCANO. 

Without doubt, it was the prospect of an approach- 
ing separation which made Mr. Richard Briscoe so 
downcast when he and Van met on the morning after 
Ninada's disclosure of her fathers purpose for herself. 

Yet underlying it all was — so it seemed to Van — a 
deeper feeling of uneasiness, and even a sort of nervous 
dread, for which the latter could not account. 

“Setting aside the peculiar views of Ninada’s grand- 
father, who firmly believed as many people do the world 
over, that the destiny of every life is controlled by the 
stars,” he said, “ I want her for two or three years at 
least, to have the advantages of an American education 
and American society ” 

“But, Uncle Richard,” eagerly interrupted Van, 
“ why do you not go with Ninada ? Surely you could 
leave Itambez for a time and return to it as Martin did.” 

Mr. Brisco shook his head. 

“ It is impossible,” he said, firmly. “Ninada herself 
knows why, and — and is reconciled to it.” 

Van wanted very much to ask what good the social 
and educational advantages purposed for his cousin 
would do her if her remaining lire was to be spent out- 
side the pale of the world where those things were to be 
gained. 


VAN. 


121 


But he did not wish to appear inquisitive, and further 
than this, he felt there was something which Mr. Briscoe 
was holding back. Whether he should discover what 
it was, remained to be seen. 

Rather to the relief of Van, Flores showed no signs of 
resentment when they again met. He was smooth and 
cool and courteous ; he addressed Ninada with his usual 
easy self-possession, and there was nothing in his man- 
ner to suggest the conflict of passion going on within. 

Only once did a sign of the cloven foot show itself. 

Mr. Briscoe, with Ninada by his side, was standing 
on the balcony overlooking the courtyard, gazing up- 
ward toward the far away summit of Escomada, while 
a short distance away were Van and Flores. 

Now ever since Van’s arrival in Itambez he had grown 
accustomed to an occasional sound of a deep internal 
rumbling, which arose seemingly from the very bowels 
of the volcano. For more than a year — so they told 
him — this phenomenon, which is by no means uncom- 
mon in volcanic regions, had been noticeable. 

But on the previous night, the rumbling had sounded 
deeper and more prolonged. Through the darkness 
they had seen the clouds about the cone shaped peak 
tinged with a wonderfully awe-inspiring lurid glow. 

And at the time of which I speak, a thick, sooty 
smoke, unlike the thin spiral usually seen, was rising 
and flattening itself out — if I may thus express it — against 
the masses of clouds just above the crater. 

*' * Escomada looks quite threatening, father/' said 
Ninada, in very much the same tone she would have 
used in speaking of an approaching shower. 

“The saying of the wise men is coming true,” quietly 


122 


VAN 


observed Flores, but as both Van and Ninada regarded 
him inquiringly, Mr. Briscoe, with a show of irritation 
very unlike his usual even, dispassionate manner, turned 
upon his ward. 

“ Don’t talk nonsense, Flores,” he exclaimed, sharply. 
“ You know very well that their saying referred to the 
slight and perfectly harmless eruption whose effects 
Van noticed and spoke of having felt a little before he 
came to us.” 

Flores shrugged his shoulders. 

“The small reservoir among the lower hills has gone 
dry,” he said, with a meaning in his tone which per- 
haps Mr. Briscoe alone comprehended. 

It was at the same moment that Van suddenly pointed 
upward with his hand. 

“ Look,” he said, in a low tone. 

From the distant crater rose a livid column of mingled 
fire and smoke, like a gigantic blazing tree trunk with wide 
spreading branches. It quivered in the smoky atmos- 
phere for a moment — as wondrous a sight as the fiery 
cross which Constantine saw in the heavens — and then 
sank down into the density from which it had risen ! 

A slight exclamation escaped Ninada’s lips, but glanc- 
ing at her father she was quickly reassured by the calm 
immobility of his features. So, to a certain extent, was 
Van himself. 

But the strange phenomenon had only for a second 
attacted Flores’s attention. His piercing eyes, follow- 
ing the direction of Van’s extended hand, had seen 
something of far greater importance to himself. 

Grasping Van’s wrist with a quick movement, he 
drew the young fellow’s hand toward him. 


VA2V. 


12 3 


“ You have given him the ring y Ninada ! ” said Flores, 
in a curiously repressed voice, which, with the act 
itself, at once attracted the notice of her father, who 
looked keenly from one to the other of the three, with- 
out speaking. 

“ Why should I not do as I wish with my own ! ” 
proudly answered the beautiful girl, drawing herself 
up to her full stature. Apparently finding the question 
difficult to answer, Flores, with a fierce exclamation 
which I fear was an oath in choice Itambezi, flung 
Van's hand rudely from him, and, without replying, 
entered the house. 

Now the ring referred to was one which I casually 
mentioned as having ornamented Ninada’s slim finger 
the evening before. It was a large oval gem resem- 
bling the moonstone of Ceylon. Glowing up through 
the milky whiteness was the wonderful iridescent sheen 
of the fine opal, changing in every light. The beauti- 
ful stone was set in a band of dull gold, inside of which 
were engraved the insignia of Itambez. 

“ Last night, father,” said Ninada, upon whose clear 
cheek the faintest touch of color had come and gone 
like the dusky spark in the gem itself, “ I gave the ring 
to my cousin, as a seal of our friendship. Was it well? ” 

“ It was well, Ninada,” gravely answered her father, 
with a curious look into Van’s manly, earnest face. 

“ And Van,” he said, as though satisfied with what 
he saw in the young man’s features, “ let me say this. 
In Itambez the giving of a ring containing the bezeH 
stone implies the strongest friendship known. By your 
acceptance of it, I shall look to you to be mydaughter’9 
protector and guardian when I shall have given her into 


24 


VAN i 


your charge as her escort to the world she has never 
seen. In a sense, you will stand in my own place. 
Du you accept the charge ? ” 

“I do,” said Van, solemnly, as, taking the young 
girl’s hand, he raised it to his lips. “ And may God do 
by me as I by Ninada.” 

This may sound a little high flown to the average 
reader, yot somehow even to Van’s matter of fact nature 
it did not so occur. The circumstances that had called 
it forth were the most impressive his life had ever 
known, and Van Briscoe felt every word that he said. 
And he meant it, too. 

Mr. Briscoe drew a long breath, as though part of 
a great burden had been lifted from his mind, while 
Ninada’s beautiful eyes filled with tears. 

“ But why should Flores show so much resentment ? * 
rather impulsively asked Van. 

He repented the question as quickly as he had asked 
it 

Partly because the reason itself occurred to him in the 
rich crimson that suddenly manded in Ninada’s cheeks, 
and partly at the frown which appeared on her father’s 
face. 

“ He is an undisciplined, evil passioned young fel- 
low ? ” sharply returned Mr. Briscoe. “ But I am glad 
he has taken himself out of the way,” he went on, his 
face clearing as he spoke ; “ for there is something to 
be done in which he has no part. ” 

It was on the tip of Van’s tongue to ask how much 
Flores knew of his guardian’s intentions regarding 
Ninada, but there was no chance just then. 

A flight of stone steps led from the balcony down into 


VAN. 


125 

the courtyard, and in obedience to a mute gesture from 
Mr. Briscoe, the two followed him thither. He passed 
through an arched doorway on the opposite side of the 
courtyard from the living apartments, leading into a 
part of the house Van had not before visited. 

Guiding them through a connecting suite of small 
rooms with low stone ceilings curiously ornamented in 
arabesque, Mr. Briscoe paused before the southern wall 
of the final chamber. 

The room was bare of all attempt at furnishing, except 
for its hangings of leather stamped in curious designs, 
representing birds, beasts and flowers with a consider- 
able degree of skill. All these were in excellent pre- 
servation, considering the unknown centuries through 
which they had thus remained. 

Mr. Briscoe raised a fold of the hangings on the 
eastern wall, displaying the admirable masonry of the 
ancients, fitting so cleverly as to need no confining 
cement 

The solid slabs of stone, about four feet in width, 
reaching from the ceiling to the floor, were jointed so 
neatly together that a knife-blade could not be inserted 
between them. They were placed horizontally side by 
side, instead of being laid transversely. 


j\ *'• 


m 




CHAPTER XIX. 

THE TREASURE CHAMBER. 

Counting from the right-hand corner, Mr. Briscoe 
pushed gently on the side of the seventh slab. Greatly 
to Van’s surprise it swung noiselessly as on a pivot at 
the top and bottom, leaving an aperture some two feet 
in width on either side. 

“Nearly all the original dwellings in the city have 
something like this — probably intended, by the founders 
of Itambez, as hiding-places, in case of an enemy’s 
incursion,” explained Van’s uncle. Then, holding the 
uplifted fold of the hangings, he motioned Van and 
Ninada to enter. 

“Father, myself, and Flores — with you now, Cousin 
Van — are the only ones who know of this,” half whis- 
pered Ninada. 

Swinging the slab back to place, Mr. Briscoe led the 
way through a narrow winding gallery, from which 
other passages branched off on the right and left. 
Though not an aperture for ventilation or light was 
visible, the air was pure and sweet, while by means of 
some phosphoric substance, mixed with the white 
pigment which covered the walls, there was no diffi- 
culty in following the passage. It ended abruptly in a 
flight of stone steps. 















































































UNDER FULL SAIL. 


VAtf. 


127 

Descending these, the trio found themselves in a 
perfectly circular room, perhaps twenty feet in diameter, 
with a dome-like ceiling. From the middle of it de- 
pended a sort of antique lamp, which sent out a curious 
perfume as it burned with a steady, unwavering flame. 

“ Ah, you have been down here to-day, father,” said 
Ninada, looking curiously about her. 

“I was here nearly all night, daughter,” was the 
grave reply. And then, seating himself on a quaintly- 
wrought and embossed coffer of copper, Mr. Briscoe 
motioned the two to seats on a couple of others. 
Several such coffers were ranged about the circular 
apartment. 

‘‘When I brought Flores home with me, after the 
death of his parents,” began Mr. Briscoe, rather abruptly, 
“ I meant not only to make him my heir, but to fit him 
for the position of an escort and protector to Ninada 
when she should go forth into the world. This,” he 
said, addressing Van directly, “was before I dreamed 
that I should be allowed by the governor and his 
council to share my wealth with such of my own blood 
as might be living in my native country. 

“ But I was disappointed in Flores,” he went on with 
a tone of sadness. “As he grew up certain inherited 
traits, such as deceitfulness, a revengeful disposition, 
and a set determination that all things should yield to 
his imperious will, began to develop themselves. So 
when, in return for a certain favor done the governor, 
the edict was issued allowing me to share as I have 
said (on condition that I myself always remain in 
Itambez), I wrote the letter intended for my brother, 
and at the same time told Flores what I had done.” 


128 


VAN. 


“ But does he know that Cousin Van is to inherit— 
that is, to carry back to his own land — a share of youl 
riches, father ? ” eagerly asked Ninada. 

“I did not tell that — no,” returned Mr. Briscoe; 
* nor that, instead of being my heir, as Flores expected, 
I should make different arrangements ” 

“ Hark l ” said Van, suddenly springing to his feet 
“ I certainly heard someone breathing heavily.” 

Mr. Briscoe rose, and, stepping into the passage, 
listened. 

As he stood there a low hiss was heard, and a glitter- 
ing coral snake glided from the nearest of the branching 
avenues into full sight Seeing a human form it crept 
back with another hiss. 

“It was a coral snake, the ‘treasure guardian" as 
the Incas considered them,” remarked Mr. Briscoe, 
resuming his seat with an air of relief. “The first 
branching passage has a concealed outlet in the garden, 
and the snake probably entered that way.” 

Then he went on : 

“As I was about to say, I simply told Flores that I 
could never trust him with the care of so precious a 
thing as my daughter, and that he must give up all 
idea of accompanying her to my native country, as 
well as certain other hopes that only lately I discov- 
ered he was presumptuous enough to entertain — eh, 
Ninada?” 

But Ninada, with crimsoning cheeks, only cast her 
dark eyes downward, and again the peculiar sound was 
heard in the passage, this time, however, attracting no 
particular attention. 

Having finished speaking, Mr. Briscoe rose, and, 


VAN. 


129 

applying a rather peculiar looking key to the lock of 
the coffer on which he had been sitting, threw back the 
lid. 

Well might Van open his eyes, as Mr. Briscoe beck- 
oned him to his side. The chest was full to the brim 
of great golden coins. 

“ I only show you this — and this,” said Mr. Briscoe, 
opening another of the coffers, each of which was about 
four feet square, “ to give you an idea of the wealth it 
is possible to accumulate in this remarkable country. 
And yet, as compared with thousands in the city, I am 
only comfortably well off.” 

4 ‘ Comfortably well off.” Van made a very rough 
mental calculation as to the number of gold pieces a 
box four feet square might contain, and in a dazed sort 
of way rubbed his eyes and wondered if his uncle was 
not laughing at him. 

If Mr. Briscoe was not thus doing in a metaphorical 
sense, Ninada was in a literal one. To her eyes there 
was nothing out of the ordinary in the sight of such 
great possessions, and Van’s amazement seemed some- 
thing very amusing. 

“Wait, Cousin Van,” she said, while her beautiful 
face dimpled with smiles, “there is something more to 
come.” 

There was indeed ! Four coffers of coin were dis- 
played, and a fifth filled with vases, cups, and strange 
ornaments, which, Mr. Briscoe explained, were found 
just as he saw them when he first discovered the secret 
treasure room. 

The lid of the sixth being thrown back disclosed an 
upper tray divided into compartments. And an invol- 


VAN. 


130 

untary cry escaped Van’s lips as in each he saw little 
heaps of cut and uncut gems. 

There were sapphires and emeralds, whose posses- 
sion a queen might envy ; moonstones like drops of 
petrified water, holding the rays of a tropic moon in 
their depths ; opals with their hearts of fire, golden 
beryls, rubies of wonderful size and depth of coloring, 
and pearls which centuries before had been brought 
from the Pacific coast. 

The middle compartment of the tray was somewhat 
larger than the rest. And Van was mute with amaze- 
ment as his eyes rested on its glittering contents, con- 
sisting entirely of diamonds. 

Diamonds in size from a seed pearl to half a hazel 
nut; straw colored and slightly rose tinted stones, 
bluish white and greenish pink — all these “off color 
stones ” lay carelessly intermingled with a far greater 
number of gems of the “ purest ray serene.” 

“ Much of my wealth came through my wife,” said 
Mr. Briscoe quietly, when Van had somewhat exhausted 
his raptures. “Speaking from an American point of 
view, I am not exaggerating when I tell you that I do 
not know how much commercial value all this repre- 
sents. ” 

“ I don’t see how you can know,” exclaimed Van, 
wondering to what huge figures his uncle’s wealth 
would amount. 

Mr. Briscoe, without replying, took from a separate 
compartment a small box of curiously chased silver, 
which he extended to Van. 

“That contains diamonds, Van,” he said kindly, 
“ and I think you will find on your return to America 


VAM 


131 

that the sum received from their sale will give you a 
tolerable start in life. This share of my wealth, small 
as it is, is your inheritance, if so you choose to call it. ” 

Van tried to speak, but somehow the right words 
would not come. Truth to tell, he was so overpowered 
with all he had seen and heard as to be quite incapable 
of any connected speech. 

“ Never mind, Cousin Van — we understand , *’ laughed 
Ninada, who easily comprehended the reasons for Van’s 
awkward silence. 

And then after a little more talk the trio returned to 
the upper air. 

They did not know then that Flores, concealed in the 
subterranean passage leading from the treasure room 
to the garden, had seen and heard all that had passed. 

It was not unnatural to suppose that while the pro- 
posed journey from Itambez would not be nearly as 
lengthy, it would not be without dangers and hardships 
corresponding to those encountered by Van and his 
companions. 

Taking this fact into consideration, Van felt certain 
of one or the other of two things, either Mr. Briscoe 
actually shared the belief in the prediction which had 
been made regarding the threatened danger to his daugh- 
ter unless she left Itambez before her sixteenth birth- 
day, or else he was moved by some more practical 
and weightier reasons, only known to himself. Noth- 
ing else — even his avowed purpose of giving Ninada 
the social and educational advantages mentioned — could 
account for subjecting his daughter to a journey fraught 
with so much possible peril. 

But I need hardly say that the prospect of acting as 


VAN i 


guide and protector to the young girl filled Van’s heart 
with gladness. It more than reconciled him to the 
thought of leaving this lovely spot where he would 
willingly have been content to stay. 

But Mr. Briscoe spoke very plainly as to this latter 
half expressed thought of his nephew’s. 

“Itambez is only a city for the dreamer — for the 
young man or woman who is content to live a life of 
listless ease, without care or thought for the future, ” he 
said, gravely, “and that is one of the reasons I have for 
sending Ninada away ” 

“But only fora little time, father,” quickly interposed 
his daughter, bending her dark eyes on his face, as 
though she would read his deeper and more secret 
thoughts. 

“Only for a little time, Ninada,” repeated her father, 
but there was a shadow of sadness in his voice which 
caused Van, who was walking nervously to and fro on 
the stone flagging, to glance at him curiously. 

The evening was warm, with a heavy odor of the 
flowering shrubs everywhere present. Ninada, in her 
soft, white robes, stood beside her father, dreamily look- 
ing out into the deepening twilight. Here and there 
among her heavy braids she had placed fire-flies in lit- 
tle gauze inclosures, and these emitted dull sparks of 
greenish golden light like living jewels. 

Van himself felt the force of his uncle’s remark. He 
was beginning to rouse himself from his dreamy exist- 
ence, and to remember that life is given for action, not 
repose. 

That the return should be made by the Canuma river, 
and thence to and down the Amazon to Para, was of 


VAN. 


133 

course decided upon, as the overland route to Arica or 
Callao would be a hundredfold more difficult and dan- 
gerous. 

To Van’s surprise he found out that Mr. Briscoe had 
for more than a fortnight been perfecting his plans 
for the purposed journey. Manola — Ninada’s nurse 
and body servant — had refused to be separated from 
her foster child. She unhesitatingly consented to ac- 
company her to the unknown country after a long 
private interview with her master, who perhaps told 
her more than was known to Van or Ninada herself. 

The negro Tom had also been induced to make one 
of the party as far as the Amazon, where it was expected 
they would fall in with one of the large trading boats 
descending the river. Martin had steadfastly but re- 
spectfully refused to leave the city limits, so his own val- 
uable services were not to be had, greatly to Van’s ex- 
pressed regret. 

“ It does not matter,” said a voice suddenly speak- 
ing out of the half darkness close beside them. “I 
myself have decided to leave Itambez, and shall ask 
permission to make one of the party.” 

The speaker was Flores. 


$34 


VAN. 


CHAPTER XX. 

PREPARATIONS FOR THE JOURNEY. 

Flores’s unexpected announcement caused quite a 
sensation among his hearers, who were considerably 
astonished by his cold audacity. Mr. Briscoe was the 
first to speak. 

“As your guardian, Flores,” he said. “I simply 
advise you to put this foolish fancy out of your head. 
I certainly shall never give my consent to anything of 
the kind.” 

“ I shall go without it, then,” was the unmoved reply, 
“and as you have seen fit to intrust your daughter to the 
care of a stranger of whom you know only what he 
chooses to tell you, perhaps there is more need that I 
should be near her to watch over her safety.” 

The cool insolence of this remarkable assertion caused 
Van’s face to crimson with anger. A hasty reply rose 
to his lips, which was as quickly checked by the gentle 
touch of Ninada’s fingers. 

“My father and myself have chosen both a protector 
and companion in my cousin — we ask no other, Flores,” 
she proudly responded. 

“Well said, my daughter,” was Mr. Briscoe’s calm 
remark. “ So, Flores, you see that Ninada’s safety will 
be insured without your valuable services.” 


VAN 


*35 

“But I shall go,” said Flores, in the same defiant 
manner. 

“You forget that the wealth left by your parents is in 
my hands/' sharply returned his guardian, “and I 
certainly shall not relinquish it till you are of lawful 
age, which in this province will be when you reach your 
nineteenth year." 

‘ ‘ I forget nothing, ” said Flores, in a voice which sug- 
gested far more than the words themselves — “ what I 
have said, I have said." 

An awkward silence ensued. Van and Ninada did 
not know what to say while Mr. Briscoe, perplexed and 
angry, was trying to keep back the sharp words he was 
tempted to utter. 

“Flores," he began finally, and his voice took on a 
sort of pathos that Van had never before noticed. “I 
have tried in all ways to do for you as my very own, 
but you have disappointed my expectations — I do not 
need to tell you how. If you had turned out differently 
I should willingly have bidden you God speed and al- 
lowed you to accompany Ninada. As it is — with your 
unbridled, self-indulgent nature — I do not speak of other 
faults — it would be sending you to your own destruction 
—you cannot go ! " 

“ But I will ! " was the sullen response. 

Again Van was strangely conscious of the indefinable 
shadowy presence — if presence it can be called — that 
he had noticed when a few evenings before Flores had 
made a certain threatening gesture, yet nothing could 
be seen in the soft tropic darkness. 

But a sigh was breathed on the night stillness which 
certainly had not escaped the lips of any of the four. 


VAN. 


136 

“ You hear , Flores P” remarked Mr. Briscoe, in a tone 
of quiet significance. 

“ I hear,” returned Flores, but without the slightest 
change in tone or manner, and this time it was Mr. Bris- 
coe who sighed. 

“ Flores,” he said, gently laying his hand on the young 
man’s shoulder, “do you remember that when dy- 
ing your mother told you if it was possible she should 
watch over you in spirit ” 

What a smothered exclamation of anger or impatience, 
Flores shook off the kindly touch, and turning abruptly 
left the veranda. 

“We must manage it so that Flores will not know 
how and when we leave Itambez,” said Van, speaking 
for the first time, “for he seems determined to force 
himself upon us.” 

“That can be easily managed,” returned Mr. Briscoe, 
and the unpleasant topic was dropped for the time by 
common consent. 

The days flew on with more than ordinary swiftness 
as the appointed time of departure drew near. Aided 
to some extent by the descriptions given both by Mr. 
Briscoe and Van, Manola, who was skillful with the 
needle, prepared a few garments more suited for the 
travel before them than those worn habitually by Ni- 
nada and herself. In Para an outfit for the anticipated 
voyage by steamer to America could easily be obtained 
for them all. 

It was understood that on arrival in America Van 
should place Ninada, in the care of Captain Peters’s un- 
married sister, who lived near Boston. Van had made 
his home with her previous to entering the school ship, 


VAM 


and knew how gladly she would receive the beautiful 
motherless girl after learning her romantic history. 

To this lady, whom he had known in other days, Mr. 
Briscoe had written a long letter of explanation and 
instruction, the contents of which were only known 
to himself ; which letter, duly sealed, was intrusted to 
Ninada’s keeping. 

As in the case of Van himself, Ninada was to be pro- 
vided with abundant means in the form of precious 
stones, from the sale of which her income would arise. 

What amount would thus be taken, Van neither knew 
nor cared. He was well aware that Mr. Briscoe would 
supply his daughter lavishly, and though he himself was 
ignorant of the relative value of such things, he felt sure 
that the sparkling stones given him by his uncle, and 
subsequently transferred to his money belt, were worth 
a very large sum of money. 

As to the duration of Ninada’s stay, Mr. Briscoe spoke 
evasively. It depended, he said, partly upon herself. 
She would know in due time, and further than that, ht 
would not say. 

All this was kept secret from Flores, who seemed to 
notice nothing out of the ordinary. He was absent 
from the house much of the time, coming and going at 
will. Whether he had given up his firmly asserted re- 
solve, or whether he was biding his time, was best known 
to himself. 

Known only to themselves too, were the feelings of 
Ninada and Mr. Briscoe as to their coming separation ; 
but as I have said, strong emotions never came to the 
surface among the people of Itambez. Ninada herself, 
believing the parting to be but temporary, did not t 


VAN. 


138 

course feel it so deeply as her father, who himself was 
in a state of anxious uncertainty regarding the matter, 
though he seldom spoke of it. 

And all this time Escomada kept up its undertone of 
grumbling, its puffs of smoke by day, and the lurid glow 
of its peak by night. Yet as with the people of Pom- 
peii and Herculaneum, those of Itambezi ate, drank and 
were merry in their indolent, dreamy way — married and 
were given in marriage. The ancient records showed 
that every generation for centuries had witnessed simi- 
lar volcanic phenomena at periodic intervals, yet noth- 
ing like a serious eruption of the fire mountain had ever 
taken place. 

True, the wise men were predicting something disas- 
trous during the then present year, yet their daily lives 
went on as usual. The truth is, the people of Itambez 
were fatalists in the strongest sense of the word. 

“What is written is written/' might be called their 
watchword, and so they drifted on with the dreamy 
days. 


VAN. 


*39 


CHAPTER XXL 

A STARTLING DISCOVERY. 

Midnight in Itambez 1 The glowing shield of the 
moon was showing its face over the mountain crests, 
bathing them in a sheen of silver that swept down the 
green slopes into the valley and city below, as the queen 
of night rose higher in the blue black of the arching sky. 

Street, courtyard and dwelling alike were flooded with 
an almost noonday splendor without its glare ; yet such 
was the silence, that it was like a city of the dead. 

On the river side close to the great stone bridge which 
spans the swift-flowing Canuma, a little company were 
assembled — a most unusual sight at such an hour. 

Drawn up to the edge of the granite walled embank- 
ment was a balsa or raft, of narrower build than those 
usually seen in South American waters, and slightly 
rounded at both ends. Near the bow and stern were two 
quite commodious cabins with arching roof. In one of 
these a number of necessaries as for a prolonged voyage 
were being placed by a couple of lithe, olive-complex- 
ioned men, whose peculiar dress and cast of features 
showed that they belonged to one of the river tribes of 
the Itambezi provinces. Four others stood silently apart, 
awaiting orders from the master or helmsman, who, 
stationed at the stern, held the shaft of the long steering 
oar in his muscular hands ready for action. 


140 


VAN. 


Assembled on the embankment itself was a little group 
of a different nationality. Mr. Briscoe and his daughter, 
standing somewhat apart, were speaking together the 
last words of farewell, which were too sacred to be 
recorded. 

Van, whose cool white linen suit had been discarded 
for something better suited for what lay before him, was 
talking with Martin, while Tom, the negro, a little dis- 
tance away, was relieving Manola, a resolute looking 
middle-aged woman of more than ordinary intelligence, 
of a number of wraps which were to be placed on the 
raft. 

“I should like to have said good-bye to Flores,” Van 
was saying, ‘‘for though I seem to have gained his ill 
will I certainly bear him none.” 

Martin shrugged his shoulders. 

“Perhaps it’s better as it is,” he returned. “That 
Flores is a bad lot, take him at his best, and if, as he 
swears he will do, he ever does get to America, the Lord 
help him, he'll be likely to kill some one or get killed, 
before he's been there twenty-four hours. ” 

“Look here, Martin,” said Van, lowering his voice 
as a sudden thought occurred to him. “ About this vol- 
cano business — do you anticipate anything more dan- 
gerous than the slight eruptions Escomada seems to 
have had from time to time ? ” 

“Who knows ? ” was the careless reply. “ I am will- 
ing to take the chances, anyway.” 

“So, too, is my uncle, apparently,” Van responded. 

“Ah, but it is very different with him,” said Martin, 
“ for he is bound by the solemn oath of the temple never 
to leave Itambez, and even if he wasn't, I very much 


VAN ; 


141 

doubt whether he would go under any circumstances 
for another reason.” 

“ What is that ? ” curiously asked Van. 

He hopes and expects — with good reason, too — to 
be made governor of the province if Xalaqua resigns an- 
other year by reason of his age as is expected, and ” 

But Martin s speech was brought to a conclusion by 
the approach of Mr. Briscoe and Ninada. Both were 
very pale, but aim and outwardly composed. Martin 
drew back respectfully as Mr. Briscoe took his nephew 
by the hand. 

“You know all I would say, Van,” he said in a 
voice of repressed emotion, “ only remember I am 
trusting what is far dearer than my own life into your 
hands, and — and — should anything occur that Ninada 
never comes back to Itambez, she must look to you as 
a protector. May God bless and keep you both. ” 

“I will be faithful to my trust,” was the solemm 
reply, and Mr. Briscoe saw in the young man’s earnest, 
resolute features that this was no form of idle words. 

The last farewells were spoken, and the little party 
stepped on board the raft, the fasts were loosed, and its 
head pushed out into the swift current of the stream. 

The scene was indelibly photographed upon Van’s 
memory. The buoyant raft gathering increasing head- 
way as two rude sweeps were manned by four of the 
crew, who began a strangely pathetic chant in their 
own language. Ninada, standing by her nurse with a 
look of dejection on her beautiful face as her tear- 
dimmed eyes were strained to catch the last glimpse 
of her father, who remained leaning against the stone 
parapet of the bridge, his dark figure outlined against 


VAK 


142 

the solemn looking white buildings, while river and 
city alike were bathed in the wonderful moonlight 
glow. 

On and still on between the stone embankments 
lined with the homes of the sleeping city, and before 
them loomed the great arch in the city wall through 
which the Canuma swept the raft with ever increasing 
strength. 

“Adiosa, Itambez,” exclaimed Manola with stream- 
ing eyes, stretching out her arms toward the receding 
city. 

“ Adiosa , Itambez, poro pocita tiemporate” (Adieu, 
Itambez, for a little time), whispered Ninada, insensibly 
dropping into the familiar tongue of her people, and as 
was perhaps natural, betraying less sorrow than Manola. 

“Good-bye, Itambez/’ murmured Van, himself not 
unmoved by the strangely weird beauty of the scene, 
while Tom alone showed no particular signs of emotion 
in any direction. 

The start had been made at midnight for two reasons. 
One was that Mr. Briscoe wished as far as possible to 
keep the departure of the party from being made public. 
The other, to throw Flores off the track. And to this 
latter end Flores had been dispatched that afternoon with 
message to the overseer of a small sugar plantation in 
the suburbs, owned by Mr. Briscoe. And so, as the 
raft swept onward between little outlying villages and 
hamlets, Tom and Van stood alternate watches till 
morning, while Manola and her foster child retired to 
their tiny cabin, where they were lulled to rest by the 
ripple of the water and the low chant of the oarsman. 

The sun was just touching the surrounding peaks 


VAN. 


143 

with a glitter of crimson glory when the raft entered a 
mountain gorge where the river began making its exit 
from the great basin of Itambezi. 

Refreshed by a few hours of the unbroken sleep ot 
superb health, Ninada came on deck — if the expression 
is allowable — and Van could hardly repress an admiring 
exclamation as he turned to meet her. 

For the young girl had donned a dress of soft gray 
vicuna cloth reaching to her ankles, which, by no means 
unlike the plain yet pretty yachting suits of the present 
day, set off her erect, well proportioned figure to the 
best advantage. 

Perhaps Van’s eyes expressed his admiration as plainly 
as his lips could have done, for Ninada blushed very 
prettily as she extended her hand to him in her usual 
frank, unaffected manner. 

But there was no attempt just then at conversation. 

Higher and higher the walls of a great canyon were 
closing in about the river, whose foaming current was 
bearing the raft onward with inconceivable rapidity. 

The roaring of the torrent echoing from the sides of 
the great rift through the mountain was almost deafen- 
ing. Hundreds of feet above them rose the irregular 
masses of granite through which during countless ages 
the Canuma had worn its way. 

There were few bends in the river, so that the sturdy 
helmsman had but little trouble in keeping the raft in 
the very middle of the current, which Van thinks at the 
lowest calculation must have sent them along at the 
rate of twenty miles an hour. As he has since said, it 
was among the most wonderful experiences of the whole 
of his South American journeying. 


144 


VAN : 


At the end of an hour the canyon widened, while at 
the same time the rocky walls on either hand began 
lessening gradually in height, till with a startling sud- 
denness the raft shot out from the gloomy canyon into 
the dazzling sunlight. 

On either side of the river lay the smooth table lands 
blending hazily in the distance with the wooded dis- 
tricts about Canuma Lake. 

One of the younger looking of the Indian crew now 
separated himself from the others and coolly walked 
toward the part of the raft where Van, standing beside 
Ninada, was pointing out the peculiar features of the 
scenery. 

Rather to the astonishment of the two, the young 
man, kneeling down on the edge of the raft, proceeded 
to wash his face and hands with rather more energy 
than the Indian races display in ablutions. Then, 
standing erect, he turned toward them. 

“ Flores ! ” exclaimed Ninada, but Van himself could 
not speak for indignation. 


% i • v" 


VAN, 


145 


CHAPTER XXII. 

A FRIENDLY PRIEST. 

“Flores — very much at your service,” responded the 
unabashed youth, who, having washed the coppery 
stains from his skin, smiled graciously upon Ninada, 
and rather maliciously at Van. 

“How could you deceive my father so?” said Ninada, 
indignantly facing him. 

“How deceive him — did I not say that I should go?” 
was the imperturbable reply. 

It was one of those awkward situations which seem 
difficult to evade. True, Flores could have been forci- 
bly put on shore, but who would take the authority of 
so doing? Not Van surely, who was only a nominal 
commander, for Flores’s guardian had hired the raft and 
crew and made all the other arrangements. Then, 
too, an open rupture was to be avoided as far as pos- 
sible. 

“Look here, Flores,” said Van, firmly. “It isn’t for 
me to say whether you are to accompany us or not, but 
remember this — I am in charge here by the wish of my 
uncle and shall resent the slightest attempt at inter- 
ference.” 

“I will remember,” answered Flores, in a voice of 
peculiar smoothness which was belied by the angry 


VAN 


146 

flash of his dark eyes. And then entering the small 
cabin intended for the crew, he proceeded to resume 
his usual apparel, while Ninada turned an anxious and 
perplexed face toward her cousin. 

“There will be trouble, Cousin Van,” she whispered, 
but Van reassured her as best he could, and the approach 
of Manola with her young mistress’s breakfast, which 
had been prepared over a coal brazier, prevented 
further conversation just then. 

Every luxury and dainty that Itambez could furnish, 
from plovers’ eggs for omelettes to delicate ortolans 
prepared for the spit, had been provided by the thought- 
fulness of Mr. Briscoe, together with abundance of 
more substantial food for the crew. Van’s gun and the 
one purchased at Para for Tom had been placed on 
board, with a plentiful supply of ammunition and fish- 
ing tackle, so that fresh game and fish were readily 
obtainable as on the preceding voyage. 

The unwelcome intrusion of Flores was the one 
drawback to the pleasure of a river voyage in the com- 
panionship of his beautiful cousin, and Van could only 
devoutly hope that all would go well till in some way 
they were relieved of his presence. 

And so the raft kept on her winding way, the only 
incident of note being that on the third day after leaving 
the canyon, recurrent earthquake shocks were felt, ac- 
companied by the subterranean rumbling Van had be- 
fore heard, together with a strange smoky darkness 
which for a time completely obscured the sun. That it 
was a more severe eruption of Escomada than had yet 
been witnessed, Van felt sure. How severe it might be 
he could only conjecture from the appearance of the 


VAM 


U7 

immense column of flame and a strange fiery glow 
which shone from and around the distant cone of the 
volcano all that night. 

Fortunately, Ninada seemed to regard the phenomena 
as she had those which accompanied the lighter erup- 
tions she herself had witnessed, and nothing was said 
by any one to arouse her uneasiness. 

And though the semi-obscurity of the atmosphere, 
together with occasional mutterings in the bowels of the 
earth, was noticeable nearly all the following day, 
Ninada was so taken up with the new revelations of 
beauty which each succeeding hour brought to her 
notice, that all else was for the time forgotten. 

For if Van, who himself had heard and read of the 
wonders of tropic scenery, had found it so far beyond 
his most eager anticipations, think what it must have 
been to this young girl whose secluded, shut-in life 
had given her so little idea of what lay beyond ! 

Whether Flores was equally delighted and surprised 
was best known to himself. His handsome impassive 
face kept its usual composure through everything. 
Moreover, he showed a very evident desire to hold 
himself aloof from Van and Ninada in their conversa- 
tion. Yet Van could but notice that by day or night 
he contrived to keep within earshot of them, thereby 
preventing many a pleasant tete-a-tete. When addressed, 
he answered briefly in the same old smooth even tones 
Van instinctively distrusted, but he seldom talked freely 
with either. 

“ Dat young chap studyin' up some kind ob debilry 
for sure, ” was Tom's muttered admonition more than 
once — for Martin had confided to his colored associate 


VAN : 


148 

more than one little peculiarity of Flores, which was 
unknown to Van himself. 

Flores was silent concerning his intentions in visiting 
America or what he purposed doing there. That he had 
probably secretly supplied himself with jewels from 
those in his guardian’s keeping Van knew there could 
be but little doubt, as he would of course not enter upon 
such a venture without being abundantly provided 
with means. 

But the days flew by with their constantly changing 
panorama of scenery and passing events, yet Flores 
kept his own counsel and preserved his unruffled com- 
posure as at first, till Van began to fancy that they had 
perhaps misjudged him after all. 

Not so Ninada, who, with her nurse Manola seemed 
to cherish a vague distrust to which they could give no 
name. And so, sometimes aided by favoring breezes, 
the raft was swept ever onward toward the mighty 
Amazon by the swift or sluggish current as the case might 
be. Canuma Lake was entered and crossed — the respec- 
tive districts of the diminutive Pocotas and the dangerous 
Mumurus passed without encountering a member of 
either tribe, while later, the flooded forests and white 
trunked rubber districts were left behind. 

No incident worthy of mention occurred till Atlaxa — 
the native village at the junction of the Canuma with 
theUraria — was reached, where, according to agreement 
with Mr. Briscoe, the services of the raftsmen ended. 
The raft was if possible to be exchanged for a large 
boat, in which the Itambez Indians were to make their 
return to the province, accompanied by Tom. 

Atlaxa was a primitive settlement with mixed popula- 


VAN. 


*49 

tion of Indians, native Brazilians and Mameluccos , its 
only business being the cultivation of the cacao or 
chocolate of commerce. There, by waiting a few days, 
the little party were sure of engaging passage down the 
Amazon in one of the large trading boats which at that 
season were about returning to Para from the rubber 
and cacao districts above Atlaxa. 

Prominent among the little crowd of curious idlers 
who had hurried down to the rude pier on the arrival 
of the raft, was a portly, smooth shaven man, whose 
wide-brimmed “ shovel” hat rolled up at the sides, and 
flowing cassock of cool linen at once betokened his 
priestly office. 

Van, who had picked up a few Spanish phrases from 
Tom, at once addressed himself to the padre : 

“ Hdbla us ted espandl P ” — (do you speak Spanish ?) 

The good father’s eye twinkled with a suggestion of 
humor as he extended a plump white hand. 

‘‘Sure I speak it like a native, but it’s your own talk 
I’d prefer greatly, my son,” he said in a rich rollicking 
voice, which, with a slight suggestion of the brogue, at 
once betrayed his nationality. 

Delighted beyond measure at the unexpected meet- 
ing, Van hastily mentioned their purpose of stopping at 
Atlaxa, pending the arrival of a trading boat. 

But the padre scarcely waited for him to conclude. 

“ My dwelling and all in it is yours and thankful I 
am to see a white face — especially such a charming one 
as the young lady has,” he added, doffing his hat with 
a respectfully admiring glance at Ninada. 

A very few moments sufficed to set the entire party 
at their ease. Tom remained on the raft and saw that 


VAN’. 


150 

the proper luggage was taken ashore and conveyed to 
the house of Father Felix, who himself accompanied 
his guests up through a long shady walk to w T hat he 
was pleased to call “his little place.” 

It was a rambling, one story building covering a 
considerable extent of ground, with a wide veranda 
on either side. The wattled uprights were smoothly 
plastered inside and out with a clayey cement, which 
after hardening was thoroughly whitewashed, while the 
watertight roof was plaited palm thatch. 

Hammocks hung in the verandas, the windows were 
destitute of glass, mosquito bars in every room, and the 
kitchen by itself in a covered shed at the rear, where 
half a dozen colored servants of both sexes were chat- 
tering and singing. 

That Ninada was the daughter of an American gentle- 
man in the far interior on her way to the United States 
for the purpose of educational advantages, Van, who 
for the time constituted himself spokesman of the party, 
deemed enough to explain without going into unneces- 
sary detail. His own presence and that of Flores he 
accounted for satisfactorily, and Father Felix was too 
much delighted at this break in his monotonous life to 
be unduly inquisitive. 

He himself had been sent to Atlaxa from the Catholic 
mission at Para nearly twenty years before and had 
never left the settlement even for a day since. 

“ I hope Fve managed to do some little good among 
'em,” he said in the course of conversation, “ but it’s a 
hard soil for seed sowing. There's half Spanish Injuns 
within half a mile of ’he mission chapel, that would 
think no more of taking a human life for pay, than o£ 


VAN. 


151 

shooting a toucan or parrot wid one of their blow guns 
that’ll carry a pisened arrer fifty yards ’asy. And fu’ther 
back, there’s reg’lar haythen cannible blacks, and so it 
goes. ” 

Ninada, who was delighted with the kindly visaged 
priest and his novel surroundings, had listened to his 
explanations with eager interest, and Flores with a 
seemingly polite indifference. 

The young girl herself, anxious to know and learn 
everything relating to the teachings and religions of 
the world into which she was so soon to enter, ques- 
tioned Father Felix as to his work, and a friendly feel- 
ing at once sprang up between them. 

Flores carelessly asked something about the Spanish 
Indians who used the blow guns and what the tribe 
was called, after which he strolled listlessly out on the 
veranda, where a short time after he entered into con- 
versation with a Mestizo , who was employed by Father 
Felix in cultivating the little cacao plantation back of 
the house, which itself was embowered in tropic shade. 

Meanwhile Van had been making arrangements for 
exchanging the raft for a large, strongly built river boat, 
in which the Itambez Indians, accompanied by Tom, 
were to retrace their way back up river to their native 
province. Tom himself refused to leave Atlaxa till he 
had seen the little party safely on board some boat 
bound down the Amazon. 

“ I tell you dat Flores studyin’ up sometin’ — him keep 
mighty close to hisself, and whilst I can, I’m goin’ to 
keep my eye onto him,” he said — and Van’s laughing 
remonstrance to the contrary had no effect whatever. 

By rare good luck, on the morning of the fifth day 


152 


FA AT. 


after the travelers’ arrival, a small iron steamer from 
Bara, a hundred miles further up river, touched at 
Atlaxa to complete her loading. 

Van had no difficulty in arranging with her captain, 
a shrewd, sharp visaged Scotchman, for a passage for 
his party to Para. The steamer was to leave for that 
port the following day. 

He was about returning to Father Felix’s to announce 
the news, when a canoe, paddled by one man, shot 
alongside the rude pier. In the haggard, travel-worn 
occupant, whose clothing hung in rags about his ema- 
ciated figure, Van recognized, with an astonishment 
too great for utterance, Quipo the runner, his former 
guide to the city of Itambez ! 

Before Van could accost him, the man glanced quickly 
in his face, and then, sinking on his knees, touched his 
forehead to the earth. Van, recognizing the sign, knew 
that something terrible had happened. 

“ Speak, Quipo — what is it?” he hoarsely exclaimed, 
with a sudden presentiment of what was coming. 

“The saying of the wise men has come true. Es- 
comada has vomited forth flame and smoke and rivers 
of fire, till the great city is no more, and the province 
itself is laid waste,” replied Quipo, with a certain sol- 
emn pathos which was more forcible than any wild 
demonstration of grief. 

“ My uncle,” gasped Van, “did he escape? ” 

Quipo sorrowfully shook his head. 

“Thousands have perished, and among them was 
Xalaqua our governor and the good chief magistrate,” 
was the sad reply. 

Further questioning drew from Quipo the following 




*53 

facts : Three days after the party left Itambez, suddenly 
and without a moment’s warning, Escomada belched 
from its crater a flood of fiery lava, which poured down 
the declivity and swept all before it. That part of the 
city on the lower slope, where Mr. Briscoe’s dwelling 
had stood, was destroyed in the twinkling of an eye, 
and thousands of persons were swept into eternity. 
Quipo, with some few others, had made their escape 
by the river, and the former had traveled day and night 
to bring the terrible news of her father’s fate to Ninada, 
if perchance he might be fortunate enough to reach 
Atlaxa before her departure. 

In a state of great mental agitation Van took Quipo 
to one of the houses of the settlement for needed rest 
and refreshment, bidding him say nothing to any one 
until he saw him again. 

For though the runner was positive that Mr. Briscoe 
was among those who had perished, he had not per- 
sonally witnessed his death. According to Van’s rea- 
soning, it would be cruel to break such intelligence to 
Ninada without more positive evidence. 

Full of perplexity and disquiet, Van returned to Father 
Felix’s house, and stepped up on the wide veranda, 
where Ninada, true to her tropic nature, was reclining 
in one of the hammocks, languidly waving a fan of 
gorgeously tinted feathers. 

“Well, Ninada,” said Van, trying to speak lightly, 
“ you can let Manola pack your things again. I have 
arranged for a passage for us all to Para on board the 
little steamer that came in this morning and will leave 
to-night.” 

“ Is Flores to go ? ” asked the young girl abruptly as 


VAN-. 


154 

Van seated himself on a rawhide stool beside her. 

“Why — yes,” returned Van, devoutly wishing he 
could reply in the negative. 

“ I can only say that I am sorry, Cousin Van,” was 
the quiet reply ; “ for I am convinced that he means 
harm — to you.” 

And then, for the first time since leaving Itambez, 
the two talked on through the delightful afternoon. 
They were freed from the prying presence of Flores, 
who had taken Van’s gun and wandered off in the forest, 
as he had done a number of times since they had 
reached Atlaxa. 

“Where can Flores be?” suddenly exclaimed Van, 
as he saw the sun drawing down toward the horizon. 
“I must hunt him up — and Tom, too.” 

“ Good-bye, Cousin Van,” said the young girl as Van 
rose up to his feet, and moved by some strange im- 
pulse, their hands met in a long lingering clasp, as 
though a separation lay before them. 


VAM 


*55 


CHAPTER XXIIL 

THE POISONED ARROW. 

Rousing Tom, who was comfortably dozing* in the 
sun a little way from the veranda, Van in a few brief 
words communicated the terrible intelligence he had 
received from Quipo. 

“You will have to go with us to Para now, Tom,” he 
said, as the negro stood aghast, “but mind that Miss 
Ninada knows nothing of this at present I want to 
talk with Quipo again before I decide what to do.” 

“And I wants for to talk wid him afore / decides, 
Mist’ Briscoe,” returned Tom. 

Directing him to the little inn, where he had left 
Quipo, Van inquired of a bystander which direction 
Flores had taken. 

“For este camino” (this way) was the reply, and 
then, in a mixture of broken English and Spanish, Van’s 
informant directed him to follow a path through the un- 
derbrush, till he came to the edge of a swamp some 
half a mile away. There probably Flores would be 
found, as there was plenty of small game in the vicinity. 

Thus directed, Van walked rapidly forward, and a 
moment later found himself in the gloomy depths of a 
thick forest. The path was narrow, but well beaten 
and free from underbrush ; so Van, having no fears of 


VAN. 


156 

losing himself, hurried on, anxious not only to notify 
Flores of their approaching departure, but of the almost 
incredible news brought by the runner from Itambez. 

Now while Van had been enjoying his long interview 
with Ninada, Flores was very differently employed. 

Half a mile away in the depths of the forest, he was 
sitting on a fallen tree trunk near the swamp, with 
Van’s gun resting upon his knees. He was silently 
watching the movements of a half-naked copper-colored 
Indian with a low retreating forehead, straight, black 
hair, and a face expressive of brutal cunning. 

The latter had thrown off his tattered blanket and 
wore nothing but a pair of very short and dilapidated 
tow trousers. He was industriously scraping the bark 
of a woody plant known as the mavacure. The fibers 
thus detached he carefully placed in a tunnel of palm 
leaves, and, pouring some dark liquid over the whole, 
allowed it to filter drop by drop into a clay vessel un- 
derneath the tunnel. 

The juice thus procured was mixed with a sticky in- 
fusion. Then, taking from a rude bench beside him 
half a dozen palm splints, of which one end was wound 
round with the cotton of the silk tree, while the other 
was sharp pointed, the Indian carefully dipped each 
arrow tip in the glutinous preparation, and his work 
was done. 

Signing to Flores to give attention, the savage 
reached out for his blow gun that was leaning against 
the hut. This was a hollow cane some eight feet long, 
the inside of which had been smoothed till it was al- 
most like glass. Placing one of the arrows in the larger 
end, the Indian, after looking round, elevated the blow 


VAN. 


15? 

gun in both hands and placed his mouth at the aperture, 
at the same time suddenly exhaling his breath. 

A slight rustling in the tree tops, where the arrow had 
sped, called Flores’s attention. A moment of silence 
followed. Then, clutching painfully at the leaves and 
branches as he came down, a small monkey fell to the 
ground — dead ! 

Flores drew a long breath and nodded expressively 
at the Indian, who gave a grim sort of smile. ‘ ‘ Manana ” 
(to-morrow) said the former briefly, and whatever the 
time appointed might signify, it was evidently well 
understood by the Indian. 

Suddenly ringing through the forest glades came a 
clear-long-drawn call. 

“ Flo-res ! ” 

The young man, whose face suddenly took on an 
ashy pallor, sprang to his feet, and stood with parted 
lips and staring eyes gazing in the direction of the 
distant shout. 

Another repetition of the call, and Flores, seeming to 
recognize Van’s familiar voice, pulled himself together* 

“It is Van,” he muttered, wiping the sudden perspira- 
tion from his forehead. “ I almost thought ” 

“ Signor ” whispered the Indian, bending his small 
glittering eyes upon Flores, as he thrust another arrow 
into the blow gun, “ es Americano (Is it the 
American ?) 

Flores nodded. 

“ No manana ahora” (not to-morrow — now) returned 
the Indian, and, before the other could speak, he glided 
away into the underbrush. 

Flores, whose usually motionless face still retained 


VAN. 


158 

the deathly paleness of a moment ago, hesitated a brief 
while as he heard Van’s footsteps approaching nearer. 
His features were working convulsively, as though some 
inward struggle were going on. 

But his hesitation was only momentary. Turning, 
he plunged into the dense underbrush, which sur- 
rounded a little open glade where the footpath ended 
abruptly. 

Parting the leaves, he peered out, as Van, uncon- 
scious of evil, came hurrying along, looking anxiously 
about him for the object of his search. 

Reaching the opening, he stopped and again called 
Flores by name, but only the echo from the forest depths 
replied. 

“ Poof ! ” 

A slight sound, as of a person suddenly expelling his 
breath, was heard. As Van turned inquiringly, some- 
thing like a toy dart, impelled by some unseen force, 
made a tiny wound on his left arm just above the elbow, 
and fell to the ground. 

“ Why, what under the sun is that?” Van exclaimed, 
glancing down at the arrow. Then, pushing up his 
sleeve, he saw a drop or two of blood issuing from the 
slight puncture, but at the same moment a sudden diz- 
ziness came over him, accompanied by a terrible feel- 
ing of nausea, while a filmy cloud passed across his 
vision. 

“ Flores ! ” he called, blindly throwing out his arms, 
and as the hidden spectator cowered back in his leafy 
covert, Van staggered and fell to the ground. To all 
intent and purpose he was as lifeless as though a rifle 
ball had pierced his heart 


VAN 


* 5 $ 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

DOWN THE AMAZON 

Ten minutes after Van had been struck by the poisoned 
arrow, Flores sauntered into the inclosure before Fathei! 
Felix’s dwelling — coming, as Ninada noticed, in an en- 
tirely opposite direction from that taken by Van. 

“Did you not meet my cousin Van?” she asked 
anxiously. “ He has engaged passage for us in the little 
steamer that leaves this evening, and went in search of 
you. ” 

“Seen Van — why, no,” was the reply, in a tone of 
seeming surprise. 

“You are quite sure?” persisted Ninada, fixing her 
deep, dark eyes steadily upon his own. Despite Flores’s 
perfect self-control, his gaze fell before that of the young 
girl. 

“ Did you ever know me to tell you what was not 
true ? ” he returned, with a show of haughtiness which 
Ninada knew almost instinctively to be assumed. 

Before she could reply, Tom came hurrying up to 
the veranda. 

“ Whar’s Mist’ Briscoe? I wants to tell him I’se 
changed my mind and is goin’ down to Para along of 
the party ’stid of back to Itambez,” he said, addressing 
himself to Ninada, and glancing inquiringly about him. 

" You going ? ” blankly returned Flores, who by no 


VAN. 


160 

means relished the idea. Ninada’s anxious face lighted 
visibly, for she had a real liking for the negro, who on 
his own part regarded the young girl with something 
not far removed from devotion. 

“ Cap’n McGrath says everything must be aboard by 
sundown/’ said Father Felix, who, very disconsolate at 
losing his guests, made his appearance from the house 
before any answer could be returned to Tom’s question, 
“ But where’s young Mr. Briscoe ? ” he asked. 

Ninada explained that Van had gone in search of 
Flores, and probably taken the wrong path. It was 
thought best to hunt him up at once, while some of 
Father Felix’s servants were carrying the various articles 
down to the steamer. 

Tucking his cassock about his sturdy limbs, the 
worthy priest led the way, followed by Tom. Flores 
remained behind — as he said — to see that everything 
was in readiness for getting away as soon as Van 
returned. 

“ I hope nothin’ has happ’ned to the lad,” rather 
anxiously remarked Father Felix, who had shouted 
Van’s name till he was hoarse ; “but upon my word 
I’m beginnin’ to feel a bit un’asy, for ” 

A cry from Tom interrupted his further speech. 
Pushing rudely past the good priest, the negro darted 
into the little clearing, where he dropped on his knees 
beside poor Van’s insensible form. 

“The saints be merciful ! ” exclaimed Father Felix, 
turning quite pale as he hurried forward. 

Suddenly his eyes fell upon the arrow lying on the 
short grass, and he uttered a groan as he glanced from 

to Van’s rigid, set face and staring eyes# 


VAN. 


i6* 

u P’isened wid one o’ thim blow gun arrers — oh the 
murtherin’ cannibals ! ” he groaned, and covering his 
fat face with his hands, Father Felix, who was very 
tender-hearted, sobbed audibly. 

But the negro, only half realizing what had happened, 
raised the young man in his muscular arms as though 
he were a child. 

“Good Lord, Fader Felix 1 ” he gasped, “ dis yer 
boy mus’ be got out o’ dis — he’s only swounded like ! ” 
and without awaiting any response from the priest, he 
started back at a run, carrying his heavy burden with 
seeming ease. He was followed at a slower pace by 
the priest, whose rubicund visage was streaked with 
tears and perspiration. 

“ What has happened ? ” exclaimed Ninada, in a voice 
of repressed fear, as, accompanied by Manola, she ran 
down the steps of the veranda to meet the gigantic 
negro. Breathless and panting, Tom deposited the 
senseless form tenderly on the green sward under a 
silk cotton tree. 

“He — he’s fainted, I reck'n, Miss Ninada,” panted 
the black. “Tell ’em ter bring some licker or some- 
fin.” 

A half breed native servant of the priest’s, who had 
stepped from the house, strode to the spot where 
Ninada, with white, anguish-stricken face and clasped 
hands, was kneeling beside her cousin. 

Peering into the rigid features, he pushed up Van’s 
sleeve. As his eyes fell on the tiny wound, about 
which a bluish tint was gathering, he shook his head. 

“ Him dead — killed wid pisen arrow ! ” said the 
native, rising to his feet, and looking accidentally or 


i 62 


VAN. 


purposely into the blanched face of Flores, who stood 
a little way off. “ I /’ink he’s dead,” he muttered, and 
without continuing he turned away. 

But Ninada had only heard his first utterance. 

“Dead!” she repeated wildly, as Manola, with a 
faint cry, approached her young mistress. And as 
Father Felix, puffing and blowing with his unwonted 
exertion, came hurrying up, the girl looked up in his 
face with beseeching eyes. 

“Father Felix,” she said almost inaudibly, “it is not 
true.” 

The good priest took Van’s pulse between his fingers 
for a moment, then he reverently laid the limp arm by 
the side of the body. 

“Alas, my daughter,” he chokingly replied, “the 
poor boy is gone ! ” 

With features on which stony despair was written, 
Ninada bent down and touched her white lips to Van’s 
forehead. And then Manola extended her arms just in 
time to prevent the fainting girl from falling across her 
cousin’s prostrate form. 

Three hoarse blasts from the whistle of the little 
steamer warned the others that Captain McGrath was 
growing impatient. The Scotchman was anxious to 
get to Para to take advantage of the market before the 
slower-moving trading boats. Like time and tide, he 
would wait for no man — or woman, as he grimly re- 
marked to his Portuguese pilot, who stood beside him 
in the wheel-house. 

“Tom,” said Father Felix, in a hurried undertone, 
“ there’s only you now for the young leddy to look to 
as a protector till she gits among her own friends. The 


VAN. 


163 

saints forgive me if I’m wrong, but I mistrust the 
smooth-faced young furriner wid a devil hid back in 
his eye ” 

“Trus’ me for dat,” grimly returned the negro be- 
tween his strong white teeth. Then, catching Ninada 
from Manola’s arms, he strode with her rapidly toward 
the pier where the steamer lay in waiting. 

In a state of merciful unconsciousness, the girl was 
taken on board and carefully laid on the canvas cot in 
Captain McGrath’s little stateroom, which he had placed 
at the disposal of the two females. 

Flores, pale as death, cast a last glance backward at 
the spot where Father Felix, on his knees beside the 
outstretched form, was saying prayers for the repose of 
the dead. Then he ran down to the pier and sprang on 
board. 

The fasts were cast off, and the boat, swinging out 
into the swift current, began her voyage. 

Ascending to the wheel-house, Flores told Captain 
McGrath that his companion had been killed with a 
poisoned arrow, probably by a wandering Indian, who 
had robbed the body and fled. Flores — so he said — 
had made all arrangements with the priest for the 
young man’s burial, and, under the circumstances, they 
could have done no good by remaining. It was imper- 
atively necessary that they should reach Para as soon 
as possible. 

“Had the puir laddie much siller aboot him? ” was 
the characteristic query of the canny Scotchman. 

“Only a few dollars, I believe , ” was the careless 
reply. Then, after accounting for the unusual presence 
of two females so far from the confines of civilization, 


VAN. 


164 

very much as Van had done in his partial explanation 
to Father Felix, the young man left the captain and 
walked along the deck to the little house further aft. 
Tom was standing before the door, grim and inflex- 
ible. 

“Let me pass. I wish to inquire how Miss Ninada 
is,” imperiously demanded Flores. 

“No, sah,” was the equally firm response. “Miss 
Ninada gib orders she not see nobody.” 

“ She’ll see me, though,” said Flores, sharply. “Let 
me pass, I say.” 

But as he attempted to thrust the negro aside, Flores, 
greatly to his dismay, felt himself suddenly urged to 
the light rail around the deck. Seizing the youth’s 
collar in his muscular grip, the black twisted him over 
the rail and down into the narrow gangway below, to 
the great delight of a sooty-faced fireman and engineer, 
who stood with folded arms in the engine-room door- 
way. 

“It don’t do for to monkey wid this colored party 
when he’s de only purtector de han’somest young lady 
in de two continents has,” remarked Tom, coolly re- 
suming his position. It is probable that Flores began 
to think very much the same way after he had recovered 
somewhat from his surprise. 

It was not until the following morning that Flores 
obtained speech with the young girl, whose eyes were 
heavy with weeping and loss of sleep. Nor would she 
see him excepting in the presence of Manola, and even 
then he could see that she instinctively shrank as far as 
possible from him. 

“You wish to see me ? what is it? ” she said coldly 


VAN. 


l6 5 

“ In — in view of all that has happened,” returned 
Flores, with a certain air of determination, ‘‘you must 
understand, Ninada, that now you are to look to and 
be guided by me till we reach America ” 

“Never/” passionately interrupted Ninada. “Tom,” 
she called, and the big black, who had been leaning 
over the rail within earshot, approached. 

“Tom,” said Ninada, “you have been in America, 
and know its ways and customs, promise me that you 
will not leave Manola and myself till we are in the care 
of the lady for whom I have a letter from my father. 
You shall be richly rewarded if you serve us faith- 
fully.” 

“I promise Father Felix Fd do dat, anyway,” re- 
turned Tom, sturdily. “We’ll talk about de reward 
some oder time. But how ’bout dis yer Flores ? ” he 
coolly asked, as the young man, whose handsome face 
was flushed with anger, glared savagely at him. 

“ He has nothing whatever to do with us or our 
movements,” was the firm reply. “Only for him,” 
she went on, her form quivering with excitement, as 
she pointed her slender finger directly at him, “ only 
for him, who knows but that my murdered cousin 
might now be alive ! ” 

‘ ‘ How dare you ? ” began Flores, choking with wrath, 
but an imperative gesture from Ninada checked his 
further speech. 

“I will hear no more, ” she said, wearily. “I am 
half heart-broken and worn out as it is. And now, 
Tom,” she continued, turning to the negro, “please 
send Captain McGrath to me. I wish to make some 


*66 


VAN. 


arrangements for our passage money and get his advice 
on other matters.” 

And here we must leave Ninada and her fortunes for 
a while, to take up again the story of the chief actor in 
this little drama of real life. 


VAN. 


167 


CHAPTER XXV. 

AN UNEXPECTED RECOVERY. 

Father Felix, who was on his knees beside Van, 
was somewhat rudely pushed aside by his native 
servant, who carried in one hand a big-bellied black 
bottle. 

“ Pepe, you vill’in,” cried Father Felix, dropping his 
beads from his fingers, “how dare you interrupt my 
prayers? And,” as his eye fell upon the bottle, “how 
dare you meddle wid my cashaca ? ” 

“ Had big hunt to find him,” coolly returned Pepe. 
As he spoke the native tore open Van's shirt in front, 
and laid his ear to his breast for a moment. Then he 
pushed back one of the boy’s eyelids, and looked 
sharply at the eyeball It was noticeable that this had 
not the grayish film peculiar to death, nor had the 
limbs the inflexibility known as the rigor of a corpse. 

“ Get out of the way,” rather gruffly demanded Pepe, 
who was a privileged character round the premises. 

“May I niver,” muttered the priest, as he rose to his 
feet — “may I niver, if the half-breed don’t think he 
can raise a dead corpse with cashaca /” 

It looked like it certainly. Supporting Van’s head on 
his knee, the native uncorked the bottle. Forcing 
Van’s teeth apart, he allowed a few drops of the 
powerful spirit to drop on his tongue. As it made 


i68 


VAN 


its way down the patient’s throat there was a visible 
contraction of the windpipe, and as Pepe with a low 
chuckle repeated the dose, Van uttered a strangled 
cough. 

‘‘It’s like a meracle — sure, wid a gallon of sech 
stuff in the house a man needn’t die till he was tired of 
livin’ ! ” exclaimed the priest, joyfully. 

But this was only the beginning. Motioning Father 
Felix to raise Van up still more, the servant called for a 
tumbler. This he filled to the brim with the strong 
spirit, and held it to Van's lips. 

“Drink it, me lad, it’s the saving of yer life!” 
excitedly cried the priest, as Van weakly moved away 
his head. 

Van obeyed, between terrible fits of coughing and 
strangling. Next the half-breed, seizing the young 
fellow’s bared arm, applied his mouth to the puncture, 
around which the discolored flesh had risen into a hard 
egg-like swelling. Sucking at the wound, he spat on 
the ground, rinsed his mouth out and continued the 
process, while the priest plied Van with the liquor till 
the bottle was empty. 

Yet so potent was the virus in his veins that the 
liquor had but little beyond a stupefying effect But 
gradually the swelling decreased, and the flesh began 
to assume its wonted hue. 

“Bueno!” grunted Pepe, and with the assistance of 
two or three of the servants, Van was placed in a ham- 
mock on the veranda — intoxicated for the first and only 
time in his life. 

His stupor lasted nearly thirty-six hours. And when 
with a bad headache he awoke to new life, it was to 


VAN. *5 9 

find another day dawning on the world — the beginning 
of the second one after the departure of the steamer. 

“ The saints be praised — for this my son was dead 
and is alive ag’in,” said a well-known voice. Raising 
himself upright in the hammock, Van saw before him 
Father Felix’s face, beaming with smiles. 

“And they have gone 1 ” exclaimed Van, in a dull, 
despairing tone, as the priest called out something in 
Spanish to the fat, turbaned cook, who was waddling 
past. 

Very much puzzled to understand how Van should 
know this, and why his hands kept roving restlessly 
about his waist, Father Felix nodded. Then, as the 
colored cook brought a bowl of chicken broth, which 
Van devoured with eager relish, the priest curiously 
asked how much he remembered of what had hap- 
pened. 

Well, it was a strange experience. Whether it was 
that the poison had not been made strong enough, 
or Van’s exuberant vitality had counteracted its fatal 
effects, is uncertain. 

But from the time he fell to the ground, Van was like 
one in a trance. His eyes were fixed, his tongue mute, 
nor could he move a muscle in any part of his body. 
Yet he could see and hear everything that passed with 
almost abnormal distinctness. 

Thus he was enabled to describe the appearance of 
the Indian who had approached him as he lay on the 
green sward, and he was also conscious of being 
robbed of the money belt about his waist, but without 
the power of speech or motion. 

He knew when Ninada fainted and was carried 


VAN 


176 

insensible to the steamer, and his inward agony, as he 
heard the revolutions of the screw, when the boat 
began her journey down the river, can better be 
imagined than described. 

All this he told Father Felix, but there was one part 
of his experience he kept back. 

It was that of seeing Flores, pale as death, extending 
some gold pieces in his shaking hand to the Indian. 
And he did not say that as the latter disappeared in the 
underbrush, Flores himself had bent over him, removed 
his belt, and buckled it about his own body. 

“And ye’ve lost what money you had. How much 
might it have been?” asked the father, who, without 
meaning to be inquisitive, had a little natural curiosity 
to know how much the Indian (whom he naturally sup- 
posed to be the robber) had benefited by his crime. 

Van did not immediately reply. Taking out his 
knife, he ripped open the edge of the wide collar of 
his woolen shirt, and allowed five sparkling stones to 
drop into the palm of his hand. 

“There were two fifty-pound Bank of England notes,” 
said Van, quietly, “a little gold, and about fifty dia- 
monds like these ” — extending his hand — “some larger, 
some smaller.” 

“ Good heavens ! ” muttered the priest. “The mines 
of Diamantina niver turned out no stones equal to 
thim.” 

Selecting the smallest, Van placed it between Father 
Felix's fingers. 

“It will repay you for your kindness, and the half- 
breed for bringing me to life again,” he said, smiling; 
and, despite the protestations of the priest, he forced 
him to accept it 


VAX. 


171 

“It's six carats if it’s a grain,” exclaimed Father 
Felix, holding the gem to the light. “It’s a clear 
white, widout a flaw, worth a hundred milreis a carat 
at the layste. Why, man,” said the priest, staring in 
wild-eyed amazement, “if the di’mun’s was no bigger 
nor this one, ye’ve lost something like the value of fifty 
thousand dollars.” 

“They were nearly all larger,” returned Van, with 
comparative composure. 

Van felt tolerably easy in his mind after he knew 
that Tom had promised to keep a watch over Ninada. 
Could he know how fully she had placed herself under 
the negro’s protection he would have felt easier still. 

But the uncertainty and delay chafed him terribly. 
Heedless of Father Felix’s offers to organize a party of 
Indian hunters, and scour the surrounding forests in 
search of him of the blow-gun, Van restlessly paced 
the veranda from early morn till eve, watching vainly 
for the expected trading vessel. 

It was not until the tenth day from the departure of 
the steamer that a boat paddled by nearly a score of 
half-naked Indians came alongside the pier. 

Through the medium of Father Felix, Van succeeded 
in obtaining a passage with the surly Portuguese trader. 
It was agreed that the latter should be paid on arrival 
at Para, where Van purposed turning one or more dia- 
monds into ready money. 

Two days were spent in loading the boat, and then, 
wild with impatience, Van shook hands for the last 
time with Father Felix, and stepped on board. 

“Good-bye, and the saints be wid you,” called the 
father as the boat was paddled away from the pier. 


VAAT, 


172 

“Heretic though ye are, I’ve hopes of meetin ye in 
Hivin.” 

Van waved his hand, and soon a bend in the river 
hid Atlaxa from view. 

There were no more stoppages to be made, and the 
boat sped on with the swift current through days and 
nights, till one morning at sunrise the whitewashed 
walls of Para appeared in sight. Half an hour later 
the boat was alongside the custom-house steps. 

Standing on the pier for a moment, Van looked about 
him in a sort of bewilderment. The same slow-moving 
panorama of indolent life presented itself as when, a 
few months previous, he had landed from the launch at 
the selfsame spot. 

He could almost believe, as he stood blinking his 
eyes in the strong sunlight, that for a few moments he 
had fallen asleep with some of the idlers who were 
dozing in the deep shadows, and dreamed the singular 
experiences of the past weeks. 

But rousing himself from his momentary abstraction, 
Van looked eagerly about the harbor. Two iron pas- 
senger and freight steamers, flying the English flag, 
were lying at anchor, while two smaller ones were 
moored at a pier some distance away. One of them, 
Van felt quite sure, was the Carita, which had taken 
Ninada from Atlaxa. 

He had cherished a faint hope that his party were 
still in Para. He was more troubled than he dared 
acknowledge to himself, when, on boarding the little 
rubber steamer, he learned from Captain McGrath that 
they had sailed the week before in the new passenger 
steamer Clytie for New York. Moreover, no other boat 
would leave for that port for nearly a fortnight 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


VAN HEARS SOME NEWS. 

Captain McGrath’s announcement that Ninada had 
left Para was an overwhelming blow to Van, and for a 
moment he stood silent and irresolute. 

“But how happens it ye were resoocitated from the 
tomb, so to speak?” inquired the Scotchman with 
lively curiosity, after his questioners identity had 
begun to dawn upon his mind. 

Van briefly explained. 

“Hoot, mon,” said Captain McGrath, in a tone of 
astonishment, “ but that were a braw story indeed, 
The young leddy ’ll be fit to dee wi’ joy when she kens 
you’re alive,” he went on, casting a shrewd glance at 
Van as they stood together under the awning, “for the 
fair lassie greeted sorely the passage. But the hansum 
chap wi’ the deevle in his e’e — he’ 11 na’ be sa’ pleased, 
I’m thinkin’,” added Captain McGrath with a short dry 
chuckle. 

For it seems that Captain McGrath had received a 
hint from Tom as to the true state of affairs, after Flores 
himself had intimated very strongly that sooner or later 
he purposed wedding the young girl whose father had 
been his guardian. 


VAN. 


m 

“ But if she liked him na’ better than she showed the 
whiles they were aboord the Carita, it’ll be a cauld day 
before they be wedded, ” remarked the captain with 
another chuckle — a remark, I need hardly say, which 
gave Van almost as much secret satisfaction as to learn 
that Tom had accompanied Ninada and her foster 
mother to America in the capacity of a personal attend- 
ant. 

From Captain McGrath Van obtained the address of 
a reliable dealer in precious stones in the Calle da 
Presidio, one of the business streets of Para. 

“I’m not an inqueesitive man,” he observed, dryly, 

4 ‘but I wouldn’t mind givin’ a good deal to find out 
what section of the Brazeels ye all came fra’, for the 
young leddy and the good-lookin’ chap baith wanted 
the address of a diamond broker where they could sell 
some stones.” 

But Van laughingly evaded a direct reply, and after 
a little more conversation took his departure up town, 
leaving the Scotch captain in a state of quite unusual 
excitement at this episode in his prosaic life. 

Mr. Isaacs the diamond broker of the Calle da Presidio 
— a keen-eyed merchant of the Jewish persuasion, who 
spoke without the intonation peculiar to his race — eyed 
Van’s rusty and battered pith helmet and travel-stained 
garb with something like disfavor as the latter entered 
his place of business. 

But his features relaxed as Van mentioned his errand 
and produced the stones, two of which he offered foi 
sale. 

“The finest Brazilian stones I ever saw,” he said, 
for the moment allowing his professional skill to over- 


PAM. 


*75 

rule his business caution. “ Though diamonds are 
greatly depreciated in value since the market has become 
so flooded with South African stones, ” he added, hastily, 
and with a solemn shake of the head. 

But Van, who had received a “pointer” or two from 
Captain McGrath, heard this assertion very tranquilly. 
When the merchant saw that his visitor knew something 
as to the value of a clear white stone, he became more 
placable, and, after some chaffering, a bargain was 
concluded. 

“The only diamonds I have seen like these, "frankly 
owned Mr. Isaacs, “were sold me by a remarkably 
beautiful young girl, accompanied by a female attendant 
and a colored servant, some three or four weeks ago, 
and shortly afterward I purchased three more of unusual 
size and brilliancy from a young man about your own 
age.” 

Van had of course expected something of the kind, 
yet it was not pleasant to know that Flores was dis* 
posing of Van's property as though it were his own ; 
and that, unless he could overtake him in time, Van’s 
entire stock of diamonds might be disposed of in the 
same way. Flores could easily represent to Ninada 
that they were some of his own property left in his 
guardian’s hands by his deceased parents, by way of 
accounting for his means. 

For Van felt perfectly sure that Flores would closely 
follow Ninada up and use every possible means to gain 
his former friendiy footing. And what more natural to 
suppose than that the young girl, a stranger in a strange 
land, might gradually lay aside her distrust of hex 
former companion ? 


VAM 


176 

This was rendered especially probable by the fac 4 
that she looked upon her cousin Van as no longer living. 
And if Tom had communicated the terrible news of her 
fathers probable fate, that would be an additional rea- 
son why Ninada would turn to Flores for sympathy. 

These thoughts — anything but cheerful ones — had 
passed in review before Van’s mental vision, as he me- 
chanically counted out his money. He had persuaded 
Mr. Isaacs to give it to him partly in gold, partly in 
English banknotes, as American currency was very 
scarce. 

Parrying Mr. Isaacs's skillful questioning as to the 
particular Brazilian district where such fine stones were 
found, he hurried back to the pier and paid for his pas- 
sage down the river, to the very evident relief of the 
Portuguese captain, who seemed to have been waiting 
anxiously for his return. 

There are no hotels in Para — at least there were none 
while Van was there ; but he succeeded in hiring a 
room from an American resident, who was trying his 
fortune in the South American city. 

His next movement, now that he was well supplied 
with money, was to provide himself with a wardrobe 
to last till he should reach New York, and make the 
other requisite changes in his outward appearance 
necessitated by his constant exposure. 

This was easily done. Before night one would have 
hardly recognized in the neatly dressed young tourist, 
sitting under a veranda and fanning himself with a 
Panama hat, the shabby looking voyager who only that 
morning had landed from an Amazon river trading 


VAN. 


177 

How anxiously he counted the days pending the 
arrival of the expected steamer, needs not to be told. 
It was too warm for sight-seeing, even if Van had not 
experienced an abundance of that sort of thing since 
leaving Para months before. So he passed the greater 
part of his time in reading, writing up his journal, and 
chatting with the few English or American residents 
whose acquaintance he made from time to time. 

Among them, of course, was the ubiquitous reporter, 
city editor, and compositor combined, of a small weekly 
paper, published in both English and Spanish. 

It seemed that Mr. Blank, always on the lookout for 
something new, had scraped an acquaintance with 
Flores on the arrival of the party some weeks before, 
and by dint of skillful questioning extracted from him 
the fact that they had come from the mysterious pro- 
vince of Itambezi, but nothing more. 

How he had discovered that Van had been in some 
way connected with the party, no one knows ; but he 
made that youth’s life a burden during his brief stay, 
by his attempts at pumping and cross-examination, but 
all to no avail. 

Still, the two were very good friends, and Mr. Blank 
loaned Van some back files of the Para News Letter , by 
means of which he got an idea of what had been going 
on during his absence. 

Suddenly, in one of the numbers dated a day or two 
after his first arrival in Para, Van saw something which 
caused him to spring from his chair, and utter a sort of 
triumphant yell, to the manifest astonishment of passing 
pedestrians. The paragraph, which was headed “A 
Startling Sea Tragedy," read thus : 


FAM 


I 7 8 

“ Manuel Rodriguez, outward pilot of steamer Clytie, 
hence to New York, brings the following report. The 
morning before he left the steamer off Braganza shoals, 
he saw from the wheel house a man clinging to a partly 
submerged tree trunk. A boat was lowered, and the 
man taken on board in a terribly exhausted condition. 
His statement was in effect this : That his name was 
Joshua Peterson, master of the schooner Rattler, of and 
from Boston, Massachusetts, for Para. That on the 
night of the 14th instant, he then having charge of the 
deck, he was suddenly assaulted by two of the men, 
one of whom struck him a blow with a heaver, which, 
missing his head, broke his shoulder bone. At the 
same moment, and before he could cry out, he was for- 
cibly seized and thrown over the rail — the schooner then 
moving about six knots. As he rose to the surface he 
fortunately grasped a floating tree trunk, to which he 
clung till rescued. Captain Peterson has no doubt but 
that his mate was murdered and thrown over in the 
same way, the undoubted object being to get posses- 
sion of a large sum of money in gold known to be in 
the captain’s stateroom. Whether the mutineers pur- 
pose scuttling the schooner and reaching the shore in 
boats, or will take her to some far away foreign port 
where she can be sold for a song and no questions 
asked, is of course uncertain. On his arrival at New 
York, Captain Peterson will take proper steps to ascer- 
tain, if possible, what has been done with his vessel. ” 

This was indeed good news, and it greatly lightened 
the weary waiting for the expected steamer, which 
arrived in due time. Among the first to engage passage 


VAN 


m 

was Van Briscoe, who of course had purchased only 
an outfit for the voyage, preferring to replenish his ward- 
robe suitably on arrival in New York. 

But the French have a saying that “it is the unex- 
pected which always happens/' and it would seem as 
though in Van Briscoe’s particular case this was indeed 
true. 


CHAPTER XXVH. 


THE VOYAGERS ON THE PARA. 

The Para, in which Van had taken passage for New 
York, was a bark-rigged iron steamer of about a thou- 
sand tons burthen. His fellow passengers in the after 
cabin were for the most part residents of the Brazils. 
Two or three wealthy sugar planters with their families 
on a pleasure trip, a few merchants visiting New York 
on business, together with a couple of English tourists, 
made up the list. 

With the former class Van did not of course feel free 
to fraternize. Those of the gentlemen who were 
exempt from the pangs of sea-sickness spent their time 
in the smoking saloon. The two tourists, who were 
good fellows enough in the main, but had the usual 
British reserve and clannishness, scarcely noticed him. 

They had been “doing” the Amazon, and, as a mat- 
ter of course, one of them was intending to write a 
book. 

“ ‘ Bampton ' — where have I heard the name ? ” thought 
Van. He was pacing the deck by himself on the third 
day from Para, and heard the younger tourist thus ad- 
dressed by the steamer’s first officer, who was talking 
with him, while the other stood by the rail smoking in 
silence. 

“Oh, I admit that the Yankees are enterprising and 
all that sort of thing, don’t you know,” Lord Bampton 


was saying, as Van walked slowly past, “but when it 
comes to explorin’ and adventure they can’t hold a 
candle to us.” 

“Well, I don’t know,” cautiously replied Mr. Boi- 
trope. “There was Kane and Stanley ” 

“And against those are Scoresby and Speke, Living- 
stone, and a score of others,” impatiently interrupted 
Lord Bampton, unwilling, like many of his nationality, 
to yield the palm to American enterprise in any form. 

“Why, look where Sanderson and I have been,” he 
went on, with an air of conscious pride, “along the 
Amazon and then up the Uraria and Canuma, reaching 
a point further in the southern interior than any other 
explorer, with the exception, perhaps, of my eldest 
brother, Edward. He, with Carl Schmidt, the natural- 
ist, penetrated the Mumuru districts ” 

“And never came back,” murmured Mr. Sanderson, 
without removing his cigar. 

“And never came back,” said Lord Bampton, accept- 
ing the suggestion. “ Can you name any American 
who has ever done that P ” he added, in rather a boastful 
manner. 

Edward Bampton ! In Lord Bampton’s sunburned 
face Van fancied he traced a shadowy resemblance 
to the ghastly features of one of the embalmed heads 
which he had seen in the Mumuru prison house. 

As Mr. Boltrope hesitated for a reply — for it is no 
small matter to contradict an English lord — Van spoke. 

“Excuse me for replying to a remark not addressed 
to myself,” he said, courteously, “but I can tell you of 
an American who has gone farther into the Brazilian 
interior than Mr. Edward Bampton or any other English 
explorer.” 


182 


VAN. 


Mr. Bol trope, who only knew Van as one of the 
cabin passengers, looked a trifle surprised, but chuckled 
internally. 

‘‘He’ll settle the Britisher’s hash, I'll bet a dollar,” 
was his inward thought. 

Mr. Sanderson said “ Haw ! ” Then turning, he put 
up his single eyeglass, through which he stared for a 
moment at the presumptuous speaker in dumb amaze- 
ment. And Lord Bampton likewise mutely eyed Van 
with a “Who are you, anyhow? ” sort of air. 

They saw simply a well-dressed, gentlemanly-looking 
young fellow, with manly features burned as brown as 
a berry by the tropical sun. 

“Indee d,” at length drawled Lord Bampton, with 
a supercilious look, “and pray who might this — er — 
American be, if I may ask?” 

“ Myself — Vance Briscoe of Massachusetts, very 
much at your service,” was the unruffled reply. 

Mr. Sanderson allowed his eyeglass to drop, and, 
shrugging his shoulders, muttered a half audible aside, 
of which only the words “Yankee” and “boasting” 
were audible. Mr. Boltrope removed his gold-banded 
cap and scratched his head in perplexity. Lord Bamp- 
ton’s aristocratic lip curled somewhat contemptuously. 

“Of course, Mr. — er — Briscoe,” he said, coldly, “you 
would hardly presume to make a — a statement of the 
kind unless you had abundant proof.” 

Without replying, Van turned and went below, 
whereat Mr. Sanderson laughed. 

“I thought he was playing a game of brag,” he said, 
“ and of course 

The speaker’s intended sarcasm was cut short by 


PAN. 


I»3 

Van's reappearance. He brought with him the com- 
pass, cup, matchbox, and the fly leaf of the journal 
kept by the two explorers, Edward Bampton and Carl 
Schmidt. 

“ Here are my proofs," quietly observed Van, extend- 
ing them to Lord Bampton. As the Englishman received 
them he turned quite pale, for the two first named imple- 
ments were marked with his brother's initials, while the 
inscription on the fly leaf of the note-book told its own 
story. 

As delicately as possible, Van very briefly related the 
story of his capture and escape from the Mumurus, and 
told Lord Bampton and his astonished companion of 
the embalmed heads. His description of the features 
established their identity beyond a doubt. 

Lord Bampton who was of course greatly shocked at 
what he had heard, thanked Van warmly for his narra- 
tive, as well as for the relics of his brother's sad fate. 
But in vain the explorers sought to draw from him an 
account of his further adventures. 

“ For good and sufficient reasons, I am not at liberty 
to speak of my experiences in the interior," he replied, 
courteously but firmly, and, seeing that he was in ear- 
nest, they forbore further questioning. 

“What d'ye think of Yankee enterprise now, Lord 
Bampton ? " pertinently asked Mr. Boltrope, with an ex- 
asperating grin, as Van, raising his hat. walked away. 

“ Clear case of young America beating old England," 
frankly admitted the former, and after that, Van had no 
reason to complain of lack of attention. Indeed, as one 
and another of the cabin passengers heard concerning 
the young adventurer, he received rather more notice 
than was altogether agreeable,. 


*84 


mar 


CHAPTER XXVIIL 

A SUDDEN CRASH. 

Van had no desire to be reserved or seem unsociable 
But apart from his intention of keeping everything re- 
lating to Itambezi as much of a secret as possible, he 
was too much absorbed in pleasurable anticipations of 
the future to care much for the attention of strangers. 

He was looking forward to a possible meeting with 
Captain Peterson, his friend and benefactor. Flores, he 
felt sure, would never be found far from Miss Ninada, 
and he was pretty confident of confounding that youth- 
ful criminal and recovering his stolen diamonds — or a 
goodly portion of them. 

Lastly, the most cherished expectation of all was that 
of appearing to Ninada literally as one from the dead. 
How joyful that meeting would be, Van hardly allowed 
himself to fancy. He was neither silly nor sentimental 
— much less was he in the slightest degree conceited. 
But he knew in his own heart, as well as though it had 
been spoken in so many words, that the young girl 
regarded him with a pure and abiding affection. And 
this was enough. 

The steamer Para was to touch at one or two ports 
in Dutch and French Guiana, as well as at Nassau, New 


VAN i8 5 

Providence. Then, her course would be laid directly 
for the States. 

The night of the fifth day out from port was one of 
those soft, starless ones so disliked by mariners when 
approaching soundings, on account of the danger of 
collisions. 

The Para was some two hundred miles to the east- 
ward of Cape George, headed well to the northward. 
A sharp lookout was being kept both on the bridge and 
from the bows, as the steamer went feeling her way 
along through the almost impenetrable darkness. 

Van had retired early, but on this particular night he 
could not sleep. He lay tossing unrestfully on his nar- 
row couch, hearing the steamer’s bell strike the succes- 
sive hours, and listening to the steady throbbing of the 
propeller as it churned through the comparatively 
smooth sea. 

The warmth was intolerable. Rising, Van opened 
the bull’s eye over the berth. Then, resolving to go on 
deck and walk himself sleepy, he began dressing. 

He had just drawn on his trousers and vest, when, 
with a shock that threw him off his feet, a heavy mass 
crashed suddenly against the steamer’s side. 

Amid shouts from the deck and screams from the 
cabin, above which was heard the roar of escaping 
steam, the Para heeled to her bearings. 

Van was thrown violently against the berth. He re- 
covered himself, and very naturally sprang for the 
door, which seemed to be almost above rather than in 
front of him. At the same moment the water rushed in 
through the porthole, which he had left open for air. 

He succeeded in gaining the saloon at the same time 


i86 


VAN'. 


with a score of half dressed, shrieking women and 
children, conscious that the floor was coming back to 
its ordinary level. 

As he hurried on deck, it was to see the headlight ct 
a large steamer apparently just backing away from the 
Para. A crowd of sailors were hurrying along the deck 
with sails from the sailroom. 

Mr. Boltrope, with the second officer, was seeing that 
the boats were swung outboard, in readiness for lower- 
ing ; while the purser and other officials were trying to 
quiet the affrighted passengers. 

k< Is the damage very bad, Mr. Sutherland?” asked 
Van, as Captain Norris’s orders sounded clear and sharp 
from the bridge where he was stationed. 

Mr. Sutherland, who had just come from forward, 
shrugged his shoulders and felt mechanically for his 
eyeglasses. Then, recollecting that he was in his 
shirt sleeves, besides being bareheaded and bare- 
footed, he abandoned his search. 

“ She’s cut down below the water line, and the bulk- 
head is so rusty they’re afraid it won’t stand the pres- 
sure,” he said, concisely. 

“ No particular danger, though, Mr. — er — Briscoe,” 
remarked Lord Bampton. In still lighter undress, con- 
sisting principally of under flannels, the latter was coolly 
watching the other steamer through a night glass. 
“ They’ve got their boats over ” 

“ Stand by to lower the boats !” 

There was an indiscriminate rush from the forward 
part of the decks. The cowardly crew, largely com- 
posed of foreigners, dropped the sails which they had 
been trying to get over the bow, and joined the strug- 
gling crowd of steerage passengers. 


VAN, 


187 

M See that the women and children are in the boats 
first of all, Mr. Boltrope 1 ” was the ringing command 
from the bridge. 

“ Aye, aye, sir,” came the ready response. 

But a mob of shouting, excited passengers, half fran- 
tic with fear, is one of the hardest things in the world 
to control. Surging to the side, pushing past helpless 
women and screaming children, forty or fifty men from 
the steerage and crew sought to gain possession of the 
waist boat 

“ Stand back — I’ll blow a hole through the first man 
who comes a step nearer ! ” thundered the first officer, 
drawing a heavy revolver. 

“ Mr, Briscoe, will you and Lord Bampton give me 
a hand here ? ” he shouted, as, by the glare of a blue 
light, he saw them struggling to reach his side. In the 
rush and confusion, the remaining petty officers had all 
they could do to look out for their several boats. 

Van, Mr. Sutherland, and Lord Bampton, being com- 
paratively cool and collected, were enabled to render 
such effective service that in a shorter time than might 
have been expected the women and children were 
safely embarked. 

But now arose a cry that the water had burst through 
the compartment bulkhead — a fact which became evi- 
dent by the increased heeling of the steamer. 

Up from the hold rushed the squads of grimy coal 
passers, firemen, and stokers. Frenzied with fear, they 
broke down all attempts at restraint and discipline. 

“ Into the boats — she's sinking!” was the universal 
cry, and all efforts at telling off each man to hia place 
were useless. 


i88 


VAJV. 


Fighting their way in squads to the rail, they flung 
themselves recklessly over the sides into the Para's 
boats, as well as two of those from the other steamer. 

Nothing more could be done, and as Captain Norris, 
who was among the last to leave, pushed his own 
way to the rail, Van saw Lord Bampton and Mr. 
Sutherland following. 

And then for the first time Van remembered that his 
remaining diamonds, as well as his stock of ready 
money, were in his traveling bag below. 

Two boats still remained along side, and Van, imagin- 
ing that they would not push off till assured that the 
last person had left the doomed steamer, darted down 
the companionway. 

But the saloon lights were extinguished, and it was 
only by remembering the location of his stateroom that 
he was able to find the door. To his dismay he found 
he could not open it. 

In vain Van kicked and pushed — it only yielded an 
inch or two, while through the aperture poured a vol- 
ume of water that nearly swept him from his feet. 

“My life is of more value than the money!" mut- 
tered Van, as the steamer’s increased heeling showed 
that the danger of being carried down in her was im- 
minent 

Abandoning his attempt he groped his way back to 
main staircase, and rapidly ascended. Hardly had he 
reached the deck, when with a heavy lurch the Para 
rolled her wounded side under and began settling rap- 
idly by the head. Van had barely time to cut loose a 
circular life buoy, thrust his head and shoulders through 
at, and fling himself over the weather rail. 


VAK 


189 

Once in the water he struck out as well as he could, 
that he might not be drawn down in the great whirlpool 
already hissing and circling about the sinking steamer, 
which slowly settled and disappeared beneath the waves. 

Till then, Van had not thought of any real peril by 
reason of the near proximity of the other steamer, and 
her boats. 

But where zvere the boats ? And for that matter, where 

was the steamer A 

Confused and excited, Van shouted wildly as he saw 
a faint light glimmering like a star through the darkness. 
He knew it was the steamer’s rapidly receding head 
light while the sound of the throbbing screw came 
fainter and fainter to his ears. 

In all his varied experience of danger, Van says that 
he never felt such a sensation of terrible desolation as 
then came over him. 

Fully two hundred miles from land, drifting at the 
mercy of wind and sea, in danger of being leisurely 
devoured by man-eating sharks, or perishing by thirst 
or starvation, who shall wonder that Van broke down 
and for a brief moment gave way to despair ? 


CHAPTER XXIX 


AFLOAT ON THE OCEAN. 

If Van gave way to despair as he lay helplessly 
drifting upon the ocean waves, it was only for a 
moment. Recovering himself and summoning all his 
courage, he awaited, with what patience he might, the 
coming of dawn, rising and falling like a cork on the 
long, regular swells. 

Surely never was dawn so long in coming. But the 
longest night must end, and gradually the gloom gave 
place to the gray, which in turn was shot through with 
sunbeams from the east. 

Yet the sun, which finally rose from its ocean bed, 
revealed no sign of sail nor cloud of welcome smoke 
against the distant horizon. Higher and higher the 
luminary climbed in the heavens, sending down its 
burning rays on Van's uncovered head, which he was 
forced to keep continually wet with salt water by reason 
of the heat 

All through the weary day, now rising to the highest 
wave-crests, now sinking into watery abysses, pool 
Van was tossed to and fro till it seemed to him that the 
very motion itself would drive him wild. Again nighl 
shut down, but not so dark as the preceding one, while 
the water itself was aglow with the phosphorescent fire 
of the tr pics. 


MAP SHOWING THE ROUTE FROM PARA TO ITAMBEZ. 
































* 









- 






















VAN. 


tgt 

And now occurred one of those strange incidents that 
to the average landsman seem to border on the incred- 
ible, yet which the sailor, accustomed to the marvelous 
in various forms, regards as only a verification of the 
well-worn saying that truth is stronger than fiction. 

Van had fallen into a doze, if such it could be called. 
Though his eyes were closed and his senses half-dor- 
mant, he was conscious of the perpetual hiss of the sea, 
and his own perpetual upheavals and down-slidings. 

The contact of his arm with something hard roused 
him from his partial stupor. Opening his eyes, he saw 
slowly moving past him a broken spar, apparently the 
larger half of a ship’s royal-yard. 

To reach out and grasp the iron jackstay was, of 
course, his immediate action. But, as Van did so, he 
nearly relaxed his hold in a paroxysm of instinctive 
fear. 

For the spar, which at first he had presumed to be 
drifting, was moving steadily forward through some 
unseen agency, and drawing him with it. 

What to make of this strange phenomenon Van at 
first did not know, and I had almost said he did not 
care. Unreeving one of the cord beckets on the rim of 
the buoy, he made it fast to the jackstay, and suffered 
himself to be towed passively with the spar. 

As another day dawned, faint with hunger and chok- 
ing with thirst, Van languidly rubbed his eyes free of 
salt crystals. Then, upborne on a heavy roller, he 
stared vacantly about him. 

Not half a mile distant, coming down toward him, 
with all sails set, was a great ship, occasionally rolling 
from windward to leeward, and showing the bright 


IQ* 


VAN. 


copper on the bottom, which glittered like gold in the 
sun-rays. 

At almost the same instant his eyes rested on an 
object by no means so agreeable, and his heart, which 
had leapt into his throat at the sight of the ship, sank 
correspondingly low as the dorsal fin of an immense 
shark suddenly rose directly ahead of the spar. 

But a moment later an ejaculation of surprise escaped 
Van’s cracked and bleeding lips. 

The mystery of the motive power which had borne 
him through the long night hours was solved. As the 
monster sank a few feet beneath the transparent surface, 
Van saw that a rope grummet, kept in place by an iron 
log chain, arranged like the bit of a bridle in the jaws 
of the shark, had been shoved over its huge head. 
Attached to this were two short warps made fast to the 
spar itself. 

Burned into the wood near the slings of the broken 
spar was the inscription “ H. M.S. Bellerophon.” And 
Van at once understood that some of Her Majesty’s 
sailors, having captured a shark, had harnessed him 
up for their own diversion. Thus hampered, the great 
fish was practically harmless. It could not dive to any 
depth, nor capture any prey, and must eventually die 
of starvation, or perhaps fall a victim to some of its 
own species. This last often happens to a shark thus 
li toggled,” to use the sailor’s phrase. 

But Van had no time to speculate on the shark’s 
predicament or possible fate. The course it was tak- 
ing, he saw at a glance, was away from the coming 
ship. So casting himself adrift, he threw his arms 
feebly in the air as he was raised to the summit of the 


VAN 


*93 

alternate waves, to attract the attention of whoever 
might be on the lookout 

On came the ship, sending a column of foaming 
water from either side of the sharp stem. He could 
see the men at work in the rigging, could count the 
reef-points against the bellying white sails, and even 
read the name on the quarter-boards — the “Fred Bel- 
lingham. ” 

In vain Van tried to shout. His voice died away in 
a hoarse, inarticulate murmur, as the ship swept grandly 
past not half a cable’s length away. In vain he swung 
his arms. No one seemed to be looking outboard, ex- 
cepting the master, who, standing near the motionless 
helmsman, was apparently watching the moving spar, 
now a long way from Van himself, through his bino- 
culars. 

“ It is no use,” was Van’s despairing thought, as he 
sank in a great valley of the sea and lost sight of the 
ship for the moment “It is no use.” And that his 
mind was partly unhinged by the terrors of his situa- 
tion, Van says he is well assured. 

For with a vague idea of suffering himself to sink 
rather than linger for days, it might be, in protracted 
agony, Van feebly tried to slip himself out of the life- 
buoy’s embrace. 

But fortunately he was too weak, so after one or two 
ineffectual attempts, he gave it up, and, closing his 
eyes, sank into the state of torpor induced by immer- 
sion in salt water, weakness and hunger. 

Thus it was that he did not see a sudden change in 
the ship’s movement, as her captain, by the merest 
chance, or, as I prefer to call it, Providence, turned his 


VAN. 


194 

glass toward the distant white object thrown to a wave 
summit for a brief moment 

As though by magic, her light sails were hauled up 
in the clews, her yards swung, and topsails laid aback 
to the mast. 

A moment later a four-oared boat was lowered, and 
four pairs of stout arms sent her spinning buoyantly 
over the long seas in the direction of the life-buoy and 
its half-insensible contents. 

“He looks like he was nigh gone — handle him easy, 
boys,” Van heard some one say, but his eyes were 
glued together by the action of the water, and his dry 
lips refused utterance. 

But he knew that kindly hands were freeing him from 
the life-buoy, and he was transferred to a boat’s interior. 
Afterward he was conscious of being hoisted aloft, and 
then he knew nothing at all for some little time. 




I9S 


CHAPTER XXX 

ABOARD THE FRED BELLINGHAM. 

As one under the influence of a narcotic, Van knew 
that his soaked clothing was removed, and his whole 
body sponged with warm water. 

For, as one might say, he was pickled in the ocean 
brine. His hair was matted and streaked with fine 
crystals of salt ; salt was in his eyebrows, and in the 
deep hollows under his eyes, which themselves were 
glued together by the saline particles. 

At the same time, weak brandy and water was 
forced between his lips, alternated with spoonfuls of 
beef-tea. 

Then, in a pleasant, dreamy frame of mind, in which 
the past and present were confusedly blended, Van felt 
himself lifted tenderly into a berth and covered with 
blankets. After this he fell asleep in good earnest, not 
having really slept in thirty-six hours. 

Van had a curious dream towards the last part of his 
ten hours’ slumber. He thought Captain Josh Peterson 
had entered the place where he was lying, and stood 
looking down at him. 

It is asserted that if one looks steadily at the face of 
a sleeper long enough, the latter is sure to waken. 


VAN. 


196 

Whether this be so or not, all at once Van's eyes flew 
open as though moved by springs. 

He must have been dreaming still. For gazing down 
at him were the kindly eyes and the weather-beaten 
face, framed in iron-gray hair, which had been familiar 
to Van from his earliest infancy. 

Tears were trickling down his bronzed features, and 
as one of them plashed on Van’s cheek, he knew that 
it was no dream ! 

“ Captain Josh ! ” he exclaimed, finding his voice for 
the first time, and I think it no discredit to his manhood 
that as the captain — for of course it was he — stooped 
down and kissed the boy’s forehead without speaking, 
the moisture filled his eyes in an instant 
Captain Josh Peterson was a Christian man, and Van 
heard him say half aloud : 

“My God, I thank thee, for this my son was dead 
and is alive again — was lost and is found. ” 

More beef tea, then a bowl of broth prepared by Sam 
Hi, the Chinese steward, the very fumes of which were 
enough to nourish and strengthen. 

Van sat up in his berth, as Captain Peterson stepped 
to the door to give an order to some one passing and, 
glanced about him. The spare stateroom in which he 
found himself was considerably larger and more hand- 
somely finished than any he had ever seen. There was 
a stationary washstand in one corner; the curtained 
berths were paneled with rosewood, a handsome mirror 
was screwed against the walls, with brussels carpeting 
on the floor. The whole interior was plainly revealed 
by the shaded light of a handsome bracket lamp. 

u You are on board the four-masted ship Fred Belling- 


VAN. 


197 

ham — twenty-seven hundred tons — the largest American 
vessel afloat, bound for Yokohama/’ said Captain Peter- 
son, answering Van’s look of eager inquiry as he re- 
turned to the side of his berth. 

Captain Peterson went on to explain that having struck 
a tremendous gale from the east, the ship had been forced 
to run before it for three days, going far out of her course. 

“ But it’s an ill wind that blows nobody good,” he 
said, “and only for it I should not have had the won- 
derful fortune of finding you as I did. ” 

And then the captain told Van that it was only by one 
of those mere chances on which life and death some- 
times hang, that, as he was taking his glass from his eye, 
after watching the moving spar, he caught a glimpse of 
Van himself in the life buoy. 

And when in turn Van spoke of the service done him 
by the harnessed shark, Captain Peterson’s astonishment 
was great indeed. 

“But no more for to-night, my boy,” he said, as Van 
was about to begin a more extended narrative. ‘‘You 
are not strong enough to talk too much, and a few hours* 
more sleep will be better than medicine.” 

And so it was that Van closed his eyes for a second 
edition of the much needed slumber. He was wakened 
from time to time by the deep clangor of the ship’s bell, 
or the tread of feet along the gangway, as some of the 
after sails were loosed and set, or yards checked in by 
the weather braces. 

And in the morning Van was himself again. The stew- 
ard brought him hot coffee and toast as a prelude to 
a heartier breakfast to follow, while Captain Peterson 
exhausted the resources of the slop chest to furnish him 

with wearing apparel 


YAIV, 


I 9 8 

But the ship was bound to Japan ; while it was for 
Van’s interest to go in almost the opposite direction. 
What was to be done ? 

The first thing, of course, was to tell Captain Peterson 
his story from the time he woke in the Rattler’s cabin 
to find the schooner in possession of her scoundrelly 
crew, up to the loss of the Para and his own experiences 
— which narration took a good part of the forenoon. 

Captain Peterson’s interest, astonishment and delight 
in all he heard, cannot well be described. As he told 
Van his own experiences during his thirty years of sea 
life, they faded into tameness beside Van’s strange record 
of the past weeks and months. 

The importance of Van’s return to the States as soon 
as possible, that he might secure his diamonds, was 
evident enough; yet how this could be done was a rather 
perplexing question. 

“If we are fortunate enough to meet a home bound 
ship, I can easily transfer you to her,” he said, “but I 
tell you frankly, the chances are rather doubtful. At 
Yokohama we shall probably load for San Francisco, 
and from the latter port you can go overland to Massa- 
chusetts in six or seven days. ” 

“But in the meantime Flores may have got rid of half 
my ‘inheritance’ — perhaps the whole or it,” rather rue- 
fully returned Van. Yet I am inclined to believe that 
he was not thinking altogether of his diamonds in thus 
speaking. 

But Captain Peterson thought otherwise. He reasoned 
that from what he had heard concerning Flores, the youth, 
though utterly unscrupulous and devoid of principle, 
was too shrewd and clear-headed to plunge into a career 


VAN. 


199 

of wild dissipation. Moreover, it was probable that he 
had no inconsiderable means of his own filched from 
Mr. Briscoe’s treasure chamber. 

All this seemed very reasonable, as Van reviewed 
each point in detail. Gradually he began to reconcile 
himself to the inevitable. 

The account of Captain Peterson’s own experiences 
after being thrown overboard was substantially as Van 
had read them in the Para News Letter. When his broken 
shoulder had reunited, he was obliged to seek for a 
chance to go to sea as soon as possible, for of course 
he was nearly penniless — his little all having been in- 
vested in the Rattler. 

Through the kindness of a wealthy ship owner, he was 
recommended to the captaincy of the Bellingham, just 
off the stocks. She was loaded with case oil, and was 
twenty-seven days out from port when Van had been 
picked up. If they made an ordinarily good passage, 
Captain Peterson expected to reach Yokohama inside of 
four months. 

This in brief is the account which Van heard from his 
guardian. To the former’s petition to be allowed to 
make one of the crew, the captain turned a deaf ear. 

“ You’ll go the remainder of the voyage as passenger,” 
he remarked, “and there’s no more to be said about it. 
Do you think,” added the captain with a smile, “that 
I’m going to ship a young man before the mast, who 
is worth, at the least computation, fifty thousand dol- 
lars.” 

“If I succeed in getting it back,” suggested Van, 
referring to the last clause of the captain’s sentence. 

And whether he did or not remains to be seen. 






CHAPTER XXXI 

A LETTER FROM MAPLETOIf* 

With the voyage around the Cape of Good Hope, 
across the Indian Ocean, and through the Straits of 
Sunda to the China Sea, this story has nothing to da 
As I have said regarding the cruise of the Rattler, this 
is not a sea tale and Van’s seagoing experiences are 
simply the connecting links between more important 
epochs in his eventful life. 

So it is sufficient to say that the Bellingham reached 
Yokohama in safety one hundred and thirty-two day9 
from New York. Here, among other letters awaiting 
the captain, was one from his sister Martha, mentioned 
in the earlier part of this narrative. 

Now for good and sufficient reasons Captain Peterson 
had never taken his sister into his confidence regarding 
the strange letter he had received from Richard Briscoe 
more than a year before, and his own intentions with 
respect to it. 

“Time enough for Patty to know when we see how 
the thing turns out,” he had reasoned ; “for she’s such 
a hand to worry that she'd have Van and me dead a 
dozen times over, if she knew we were undertaking 
such h venture.” 


Hence she had supposed, in common with every one 
else in their native town, that the Rattler’s voyage was 
simply one of her ordinary South American trading trips. 
And when Captain Peterson returned home with his 
broken shoulder, to tell of his vessel’s loss, he had kept 
from her his own forebodings as to Van’s probable fate 
at the hands of the mutinous crew. Nor did he eve® 
then hint at the real purpose of their voyage. 

“ Van is a smart, able-bodied fellow, and can take 
care of himself— don’t fear, Patty, he’ll come out of it 
all right,” was her brother’s hopeful assurance, and 
Martha could only wait and watch and pray for the ab- 
sent boy who was almost as dear to her as if he had 
been her very own. 

And now, having made this necessary explanation, 
I give Miss Peterson’s letter word for word from the 
original, which lies before me on my desk : 

Mapleton, Massachusetts, 
Sept 22, 1886. 

Dear Brother,— I am so flustrated at all that’s hap* 
pened inside of the last five or six weeks, that I don’t 
hardly know where to begin. And what I’ve got to 
write in just as few words as possible beats all the 
stories ever I read or heard of. 

First and foremost— and it nigh about kills me to tell 
you — our poor Van is no more. I can’t quite under- 
stand all the particulars, but it seems he got away from 
the wretches who came so near killing you, and went 
up the Amazon river with two others. Somewhere 
away back inland ( you know I never was great on 
geography) is a big city. Here— if you’ll believe me, 


202 


VAN. 


Joshua — he fell in with his own uncle that we've always 
thought was lost in a shipwreck years ago. And Dick 
Briscoe, who used to be a sweetheart of mine, had been 
living there all this time, and got married. And when 
our Van was ready to leave, Mr. Briscoe got him to 
take charge of his daughter, who he’s sent to the States 
for an education, with a foreign waiting maid, a colored 
man servant, and a young fellow that Mr. Briscoe was 
guardian of. 

On the way back, poor Van was shot by some wild 
Indians, as nigh as I can find out. It nigh broke my 
heart when I heard of it. But if God has seen fit to take 
away our adopted boy, he’s brought some one to take 
his place, so far as any human can. 

And now I’ll tell you how it all came about. Six 
weeks ago to-night a depot carriage stopped at the door. 
There was a colored man sitting with the driver, dressed 
as though he was just out of a band-box. And you 
might have knocked me down with a feather when he 
handed out of the carriage — first a foreign looking ser- 
vant woman, and then the handsomest looking girl 
I ever set eyes on in all my days. 

“Well, this was Dick Briscoe's daughter I mentioned 
in the beginning of the letter. Her mother is dead, 
and her father wants her to have the best kind of an 
education, such as it seems there isn't a chance for 
where she was brought up. Dick sent a long letter to 
me by Ninada — isn’t it an odd, pretty name? There’s 
lots in it that I don’t rightly understand. But he wants 
me to take Ninada under my wing. She is to live with 
us and all, as long as is necessary, and the board for 
her and her maid will be a great help, especially since 


VAN. 


2®3 

you have had such hard luck. Richard Briscoe must 
be tremendously rich. Such a quantity of diamonds 
as Ninada brought — thousands upon thousands of dol- 
lar’s worth ! And she says I’ve only seen a few of them. 
I went in town with her, and Mr. Lincott, your old 
lawyer, is making arrangements to dispose of them and 
invest the money for her. 

I have had the two spare rooms fixed up, and you’d 
think Ninada and Manola — that’s her maid — had always 
been with me, they settle down into our way of living 
so easy. For all they come from a foreign country, 
you’d hardly know it by their talk and ways. And 
I’ve just fallen in love with the girl herself. 

Of course it was Ninada who told me about poor Van 
— that is, she told me part, and the colored man, who 
is going to stay awhile and fix up the grounds, told me 
the rest. There’s some sort of mystery about the whole 
thing that I can’t understand. Ninada, who has had 
a quantity of new dresses and everything she needs, 
wears only black and white, which in her country is 
deep mourning. She says that her Cousin Van was 
dearer to her than any living person, excepting her 
father, and she shall always dress in something the 
same way. 

The young man who came to America with them 
calls himself Don Carlos Flores. He lives in great style 
in Boston, so I hear, and comes out to see Ninada very 
often — oftener than I like, for there is something I don’t 
fancy about him. He is very smooth and gentle with 
Ninada, but I mistrust him all the same. How she 
feels towards him I don’t quite know, for she seldom 
mentions him. But I notice she will never go to ride 


204 


VAN. 


or walk with him unless I go with them, though he 
don’t like that at all. 

At the conservatory, where she is learning music and 
the languages, Ninada is called the handsomest girl who 
ever studied there, and best of all, she is as good as 
she is lovely. 

Then followed a long budget of home news, which 
has no connection with my story, after which Miss 
Peterson concluded by saying : 

Captain Paul Brooks, who is just home from the Phil- 
ippine Islands, thinks that he has seen the Rattler under 
another name, and differently painted — white, with a 
black stripe round the bends. She was then bound for 
Shanghai from San Francisco, but outsailed the bark he 
was in, so he could not board her. I think he said the 
name was changed to Viva. 

I hope you can make some inquiries and see whether 
he is right Who knows but you may get hold of your 
vessel again ? 

Write me from Yokohama, and send your love to 
Ninada. You will think as much of her as I do when 
you come to know her. 

Affectionately, 

Patty. 

It would be impossible to describe Van Briscoes sen- 
sations as he perused this letter after Captain Peterson 
had finished it. Regret that his supposed death had 
been productive of sorrow in the quiet house, anger 
against Flores, and above all a deep sense of joy that 
Ninada kept his memory green, were confusedly blended 
in his mind. 


VAN. 


205 

But what could he do ? If he wrote them of his won- 
derful deliverance, there was more or less danger that 
it might reach the ears of Flores, who would of course 
lose no time in escaping with his ill-gotten booty. To 
return by steamer was a long and expensive operation. 

So, after consultation with Captain Peterson, Van re- 
solved to let things remain as they were until the ship 
reached San Francisco. Then, he would leave the ship* 
return by rail, and confound his enemies and delight his 
friends after the most approved style. 

So the work of discharging the great ship went briskly 
on, and Van improved his time by seeing something of 
the Japanese kingdom. Soon the Bellingham was ready 
for sea again, and sailed for San Francisco. 

Now just before sailing, Captain Peterson had written 
to the American consul in Shanghai inquiring as to the 
schooner Viva. In reply the consul had advised him 
that a schooner of that name had arrived in ballast, and 
sailed again with a cargo of beche de mer, trepang, ed- 
ible birds’ nests, and other delicacies intended for con- 
sumption by the Chinese colony in San Francisco. 

So after leaving Japan, Captain Peterson got out his 
chart for a careful perusal. 

Having studied the probable course of the schooner 
after leaving Shanghai, he made certain calculations 
based on the relative difference of speed between the 
two vessels, and their respective sailing days. Then 
he shaped his course accordingly. 

“ Stranger things have happened, and it wouldn't sur- 
prise me very much if we ran across the Viva before 
we’re half way to Frisco,” he said to Van. “Then we 
shall see whether Captain Brooks is mistaken or not" 


206 


VAN. 


“ What would you do if you should overhaul her and 
find that the so called Viva was really the Rattler ? ” 
curiously asked Van. 

4 ‘That depends upon circumstances,” was the dry 
response. 

So the sea days went by with the usual varying 
alternations of wind and weather. Sails were ‘ ‘ raised ” 
from time to time, but none of them the one sought for. 
Two were barks standing to the east, one was an Eng- 
lish brig, and another a large three masted schooner. 
But the Viva did not show up, and Van began to think 
that the chances of meeting her were less than those of 
finding a needle in a haystack. 




00 * 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

AN EXCITING CHASE. 

The Bellingham’s main royal was nearly as large as 
-he top sail of an ordinary sized ship. 

Comfortable ensconced in the slings of the yard, with 
his feet dangling over the bellying canvas, sat Van 
Briscoe, a hundred and sixty-five feet above the ship’s 
deck, upon which the moving men appeared as pig- 
mies. 

The blue and sparkling sea, only bounded by the 
great circular arch of the sky, stretched out before his 
vison without a 

Stop though — there is a sail ! Or is it a far away sea 
bird or the low bushy spout of a sperm whale ? 

Unslinging Captain Peterson’s binoculars, Van placed 
them at his eye, nor did he remove them for nearly a 
moment. 

“ Sail— ho!” 

And before the captain could bawl out the customary 
query, Van’s clear ringing voice came echoing again 
from his lofty height. 

“Seems to be a fore-and-after, nearly hull down- 
steering about sou’ southeast.” 

“ I feel it in my bones that it’s the Viva,” muttered 


20S 


VAN-. 


Captain Peterson, after responding with the usual “Aye, 

aye ! ” 

The ship, under her usual canvas, was running with 
a free wind, and the dial plate of the patent log, drawn 
n a little before, showed that she was doing her eight 
knots “without making any fuss about it,” as the mate 
remarked in making his report 

A few rapid orders were given, and the deck was 
alive with hurrying feet Men swarmed nimbly up 
the rigging. The heel lashings were cast off, and the 
long studdingsail booms run out on either side, while 
a couple of sailors in either top overhauled the tacks 
and halyards for topmast and topgallant studdingsails. 

Up went the triangular sails outside the swelling 
courses and pyramids of canvas above them, and were 
boom ended with many a cheery shout 

There was all the excitement of a chase in the old 
privateering days, without the attendant danger to life 
and limb. 

Under the increased pressure of sail, the great Belling- 
ham began to show what she could do when emergency 
called. The wind had freshened to a moderate gale, 
while the booming and bellowing, as it swept through 
the straining rigging and against the hollowing sail- 
cloths, was almost deafening. 

Rolling heavily from port to starboard in her wild 
onrush, the sharp bowed ship tore her way through 
rather than over the woolly wave crests, sending great 
clouds of spray high above the knightheads, while a 
column of seething foam spouted upward from the stem 
and swept past on either side. 

The perspiration streamed from the weather-beaten 


VAN, 


209 

faces of the two sturdy sailors who rapidly shifted the 
spokes of the big wheel to meet the swerve and sway 
of the plunging prow, and as Van descended he heard 
Mr. Murray the second mate read aloud from the log 
dial plate. 

“ Thirteen and a half knots strong ! ” 

Little by little the distant vessel rose from the heaving 
horizon line, till with the aid of the glass it could be 
seen that she was painted while with a black stripe. 

Captain Peterson shut his binoculars with a sharp 
snap. 

“That’s the Rattler,” he said, quietly. “I should 
know the lines of her hulls and the set of her sails if 
she was coated with gold leaf.” 

“ But supposing the schooner has been sold to some 
innocent purchaser — you don’t propose taking her from 
him by force, do you?” asked Van, in considerable 
perplexity. 

“ No ‘innocent purchaser* would buy a vessel with- 
out getting a clearer title than the fellows who stole her 
could give,” was the dry response. “ At any rate,” he 
added, with a glance at the bending spars and straining 
canvas, “ I propose overhauling her and going aboard 
— after that, I shall know what further to do.” 

“ She’s setting a squares’l for’ard, sir,” said Van, who 
had taken possession of the captain’s glass. 

“ Looks like a guilty conscience,” grimly responded 
Captain Peterson, “for an ordinary trader would hardly 
try to run away from a ship that outsails her two to 
one, simply as a matter of pride.” 

“ Perhaps they think, from the Bellingham’s size and 
press of sail, that she’s a man o’ war,” suggested Mr. 
Mattox, the mate. 


210 


VAN. 


“ Her trying to run away is all the more suspicious 
then,” returned Captain Peterson, shortly, and seeing 
him so determined to find the offender guilty, neither 
Van nor the mate ventured further remarks. 

But the great squaresail, only used in running directly 
before the wind, availed the schooner but little against 
the tremendous speed of her pursuer. 

By three o’clock in the afternoon the breeze began to 
subside, and seeing that even without the studdingsails 
the Bellingham could overhaul the schooner, the flying 
kites were hauled down and stowed and the studding- 
sail booms rigged in. 

Mile by mile the distance lessened between the two 
vessels. The signal for heaving to was set at the ship’s 
masthead, but those in the schooner paid no attention 
whatever to it. This was in itself a most suggestive 
circumstance. 

“ I’ve half a mind to do as they used to in old priva- 
teering days — run alongside, grapple with and board 
her ? ” growled Captain Peterson. 

For though he might heave his own ship to and lower 
a boat, the schooner of course could outsail the best 
efforts of the oarsmen, if the breeze only held. 

“The wind is dying out fast, sir,” said the mate, 
glancing astern and then aloft, where the canvas was 
beginning to alternately “ lift ” and distend. 

Mr. Mattox was right. Gradually the steady breath 
of the strong trades gave place to fitful puffs, which in 
turn died down till the heave and surge of the wind- 
tossed sea of the morning subsided into long, even, oily 
swells, faintly ruffled in spots by the breath of the ex- 
piring breeze. 


VAN-. 


211 


“ Swing out and lower the gig,” said Captain Peter- 
son, as with courses and light sails clewed up and 
hanging in the brails, the ship lazily rose and fell on 
the heaving breast of the Pacific. 

In the mysterious way in which stories drift from the 
cabin to the forecastle, the sailors had become apprised 
of the truth, and the order was obeyed by the deck 
hands with even more than their usual alacrity. 

Captain Peterson in the stern sheets, with Van beside 
him, looked quite excited as he urged the four strong 
oarsmen to renewed efforts, and the light double-ended 
craft fairly flew over the smooth heaving surface. 

“The Rattler for a thousand pounds,” muttered Cap- 
tain Peterson between his clinched teeth. 

Van, though comparatively inexperienced, saw as 
they neared the schooner that Captain Peterson was 
right. 

The white paint work, rusty and discolored, had 
worn off in places, showing the original coating of 
glossy coal tar below the bends. 

Across the stern was a band of black, to correspond 
with that which extended around the schooner’s sides. 
On it, in very rude lettering, was the name, “Viva,” 
and hailing place, “ Grimsby. ” But though the boat 
was still some little distance away, the rays of the de- 
clining sun, which shone full on the vessel’s transom, 
showed half obliterated letters. 

“Sheer off there ! ” called some one in a gruff voice, 
at the sound of which Van and Captain Peterson ex- 
changed significant glances. 

And with the words the dwarfed, thickset figure and 
coarse, repulsive features of Smith appeared at the taff- 


212 


rAAT. 


raiL His sinewy hands clutched a rifle which Captain 
Peterson recognized at a glance, and by way of empha* 
sizing his command, Smith cocked the rifle and threw 
it to his shoulder in an unpleasantly suggestive manner. 

‘‘Ease rowing — back water,” said the captain in a 
low tone. He had not anticipated any such determined 
movement as this, and it was evident that for once 
Captain Josh Peterson was nonplussed. 

Whether Mr. Briggs had recognized Captain Peterson 
and Van or not, it was very evident that they were not 
to be allowed on board. In his wrath the captain forgot 
his good judgment 

“I know you, you scoundrel! ” he roared, choking 
with anger, “as well as I know my vessel daubed 
over with white paint, and if you and your gang don’t 
swing for this, my name isn’t Josh Peterson ! ” 

“The fat is in the fire now ,” ruefully exclaimed Van, 
as Briggs, without turning his head, spoke in quick 
sharp tones to some one behind him. 

The shrill pipe of a boatswain’s whistle resounded 
along the deck, and half a dozen men ran aft Casting 
off the gripes which held the shooner’s boat in place, 
as it lay keel up on the house, they lifted it off. 

A shining four pound carronade, such as might be 
carried on board a yacht for firing salutes, was revealed 
to the astonished eyes of the boat’s crew. 

Almost at the same moment, a lithe, red shifted 
individual sprang up beside it, and, coolly slewing the 
little gun in the requisite direction, depressed the 
muzzle till it pointed directly at the boat. 

“ It’s Bates ! ” muttered Van, as the man drew back 
the hammer and took the lanyard between his fingers. 


VAN. 


213 

“We’re not receiving visitors- — be off with you ! ” he 
called in clear, curt tones, but with no signs of surprise 
or dismay at the sight of the two familiar faces in the 
boat. 

“A man’s vessel is his castle as much as his house, 
and he’s a perfec’ right to hinder anybody he don’t want 
from cornin’ aboard ! ” added the irrepressible Mr. 
Smith. 

At a given signal, five or six men, among whom Van 
recognized two of the former crew, ranged themselves 
at the rail, each holding a handspike or heaver in his 
grasp. 

There was no help for it. Under the circumstances 
it would have been the height of folly to have attempted 
to board the schooner in the face of such odds. Just 
how far Captain Peterson might have been justified in 
attempting to take possession of his own vessel without 
proper legal authority is another delicate question, 
though one which did not for a moment enter either his 
own or Van’s calculations. 

Giving the word to pull back to the ship, Captain 
Peterson shook his fist in impotent wrath at grinning 
Mr. Smith, who, notwithstanding the peculiar situation 
of the schooner, seemed to take it very easy. So also 
did the pseudo captain, who doffed his cap with mock 
politeness as the boat was rowed back to the ship. 

“If the breeze springs up again they’ll sneak off 
under cover of the darkness, and run down among the 
South Pacific islands, ” said Captain Petersen, who was 
in a very bad humor. In company with Van he paced 
the quarter, as the sun disappeared in a great cloud- 
bank of gorgeous coloring. 


SI4 


VAN. 


“Barometer’s going down as though a gale was in 
prospect,” remarked Mr. Mattox, who had just emerged 
from the cabin. 

Yet to an inexperienced eye there was nothing to de- 
note a coming blow. The air was still and warm, the 
sea ran in long, oily folds, and an occasional star 
twinkled in the dusky vault overhead. 

But far away in the distance a watchful ear could 
detect the faint mysterious moaning, known to sailors 
as “the weep of the sea,” which is in effect the dim 
echoing of warring elements miles and miles awa y— * 
the forerunner of the dreaded cyclone. 


van. 


»I5 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 
van’s reckless enterprise. 

The hours wore on, and the same dead expanse of 
calm continued. The light sails were snugly stowed, 
and the courses furled, in readiness for the expected 
blow, yet nothing seemed to come of it. 

About eleven o’clock Captain Peterson, after vainly 
trying to trace the schooner’s whereabouts in the dark- 
ness, for she showed no light, went below, instructing 
the second mate to give him a call in case the slightest 
change in the weather took place. 

Van had never seen his guardian so depressed, nor 
did he wonder at it. His own property — all he was 
worth in the world, in fact — was not a pistol shot distant 
in the hands of an unscrupulous gang of scoundrels, 
yet Captain Peterson was powerless to help himself. 
The moment a breeze sprang up the schooner would 
creep away through the gloom, and that would be the 
last of her. 

True, if the calm continued all night the Rattler would 
have to remain as she was, yet that did not help mat- 
ters. Even in case of a wind it would be impossible to 
range the great ship alongside the schooner without 
danger to both vessels, in the form of carrying away 
spars or rigging. 


8l6 


VAAT. 


Now Van, usually a prudent and by no means im- 
pulsive young fellow, had been meditating a wild scheme 
in his own mind ever since the unsuccessful return from 
the schooner. 

His idea, which will be described further on, was not 
so much due to any particular courage, or even to desire 
of praise on his own part, as to sympathy for his guar- 
dian’s trouble, and an earnest wish to help him out if 
possible. 

There was no need of saying anything to Captain 
Peterson about it, so he told Mr. Murray, the second 
mate, with whom he was a great favorite. All he need 
do was to let him — Van — take a half dozen picked men 
from the Bellingham’s crew, and arm them with hand- 
spikes or heavers. 

Then, under cover of the thick darkness, it would be 
the easiest thing in the world to row or paddle along- 
side the schooner, and take her entire crew — some of 
whom were sure to be asleep — by surprise. 

But the second mate stood too much in awe of his 
commander to consent Besides, he argued that the 
Rattlers people might be anticipating some such move, 
and take measures accordingly. No — that wouldn’t do 
at all. 

Van was bitterly disappointed. His great fault was 
an over confidence, whose growth had been strength- 
ened by his surprising good fortune in the adventures 
he had heretofore encountered. And having got the 
project firmly fixed in his mind he could not give it up 
so readily. 

But he said nothing, though he kept up adueamoun: 
If chinking for some little time. 


VAN. 


917 

Just before eight bells Mr. Murray went forward to 
see that the ship’s lights were burning brightly and the 
lookout attentive to his duty, leaving Van on the 
quarter. 

The young fellow looked quickly about him. The 
sea was of glassy smoothness, not a breath of air stirred, 
and the darkness was intense. Far away through the 
gloom shone a tiny pin point of dull flame which he 
knew must be the schooner’s binnacle light 

The man at the wheel had nothing to do but hold one 
of the spokes in his hand, for the ship was not under 
steerage way. Beckoning him to the quarter. Van 
pointed to one of the falls of the gig, and at the same 
time cast the other from the cleat 

“ Lower away softly, Bob,” he said, in a whisper; 
“ I’m going on a bit of a reconnaisance. ” 

It is not likely that the sailor knew the meaning of 
the word thus used. But was not Mr. Briscoe Captain 
Peterson’s adopted son, and as such to be obeyed with- 
out questioning? Of course the captain and Mr. Mur- 
ray the second mate approved of Van’s intention — and 
so Bob, not without some little show of hesitation, 
obeyed. 

Hardly had the boat touched the water before Van 
had descended the fall, unhooked and pushed away 
from the side. His idea was simply to get as near the 
Rattler as possible, or even alongside, and if he saw no 
signs of any particular show* of precaution to return 
quickly to the ship, and try and get Captain Peterson’s 
consent to the plan he had proposed to Mr. Murray. 

It was a reckless, harebrained undertaking, and down 
in his secret soul Van knew he was doing wrong in 


2l8 


VAN. 


taking the step he had. Still reasoning that the end 
would perhaps justify the means, he kept on. 

The composition rowlock, intended for a steering oar 
when needed, was wound about with braided sennit, so 
that Van found he could scull the light twenty-foot boat 
without the slightest perceptible noise. 

There was no danger of losing the Bellingham, whose 
red and green lights, rising and falling with the lazy 
roll of the ship, could be seen nearly a mile away, 
while the glow of the schooner’s binnacle lamp made a 
little halo in the gloom as he softly urged the boat 
toward it. 

As he drew nearer and nearer. Van held his oar 
motionless and listened. Perfect stillness is, of course, 
an unknown condition of things at sea, for in the 
calmest of calms, when the faintest zephyr is asleep, 
the pulsing of the ocean's breast is always heard. 

Save for this and the occasional creak of the schooner's 
main boom, the “ plap " of reef points against the use- 
less sails, and the distant swash of water about the 
bow, the silence was unbroken. 

Van gave his oar a few rapid though silent turns, and, 
drawing it in, let the boat drift forward by its own 
impetus toward the dusky mass which suddenly loomed 
out of the darkness before him. 

That the schooner's wheel was deserted, he could tell 
by the reflection from the binnacle light Fending the 
boat off with both hands, Van took a turn with the 
painter round the main plates, and listened again. 

A murmur of voices from somewhere forward showed 
that some of the crew, at least, were awake. Whether 
they were on the watch against a surprise or not was 
another thing. 


VAN. 


2: 9 

The buirs eyes in the side of the after cabin trunk 
were thrown open for air— also to let out the clouds of 
tobacco smoke from pipes or cigars. 

Crawling cautiously up into the main channels, Van 
lifted his head above the rail, as he heard Smith’s harsh 
tones a little upraised. 

“And I say we’d better hew some sweeps out from 
the spare spars right away, and try and get out of this, 
instead of layin’ here waitin’ for a breeze.” 

“ You’ll see breeze enough before the morning watch, 
I tell you, if the barometer’s correct,” was the short 
reply. Then, before the other could speak, Bates, 
taking something which jingled from the table drawer, 
went on : 

“ I m going to hang these handcuff keys here under 
the clock, in case they should ever be wanted in a 
hurry — don’t forget” 

The sailor grunted something inaudible. 

“It was a mistake takin’ those niggers aboard from 
that there brig,” he said, in grumbling tones. “We’d 
better ’a’ kep’ on direc’ to ’Frisco instead of turnin’ out 
of our course a thousan’ or so miles to run down to 
Hawaii.” 

Niggers aboard ! What could that mean, thought 
Van, wonderingly, when Bates spoke up again, very 
sharply : 

“That’s my affair ! Captain Phillips had run short 
of grub, and had a hundred and .fifty black skins to 
feed and water. For half a dozen barrels of rice and 
some damaged bread we’ve bought ten likely darkeys 
that will bring a hundred dollars a head in Hawaii at 
the very least ” 


220 


VAN. 


“But I don’t understand it, nohow; ain’t slavery 
abolished in the Sandwich Islands? ” interrupted Smith. 

Captain Bates laughed, unpleasantly. 

“Well,” he drawled, “they don’t call it slavery ex- 
actly, but it amounts to the same thing in the long run. 
Natives are kidnapped by the dozen in the South Seas, 
and run into Honolulu. The government winks at it, 
and the nigs, who can’t help ’emseives, are 4 let out ’ at 
so much a head — say a hundred dollars— -to the planters, 
who promise ’em that some day they’ll be paid off and 
sent back. They don’t get back, though ; they’re 
worked till they break down, and that’s the last of 
’em ! ” 

Van’s blood boiled with indignation, no less at the 
cruel scheme itself than the heartless way in which 
Bates had spoken of it So then, in addition to her 
lading, the Rattler had slaves on board — was, in fact, a 
slaver 1 

But he had heard all he cared to, and now to get 
back to the ship and make his report So far as he 
could see, there was no special watch being kept, and 
a surprise would be the easiest thing imaginable. 

As Van thus told himself, he slipped back into the 
main channels and reached out for the boat painter. It 
was gone / 

Hardly believing it possible. Van, getting down on 
all fours, groped excitedly under the channel plates. It 
was all in vain. In his haste he had probably made a 
slippery hitch, which had worked loose while he was 
listening in the gangway, and let the boat go adrift. 

Of course there was but the one resource — to swim 
back to the ship. Erecting himself, Van began pulling 


VAN 


221 


off his shoes with a fast-beating heart, for the situation 
was beginning to look decidedly serious. At any 
moment Smith or Briggs might come out of the cabin, 
and — 

4 * What the blazes are you doin' down there in the 
channels, Pedro — been at your old tricks of listenin', I 
s'pose 1 " exclaimed a gruff voice almost in Van's ear ; 
and before he could obey his first impulse — to spring 
into the sea — he was collared. 

Taken thus at a disadvantage as he stood on the 
narrow wooden ledge outside the rail, Van twisted and 
wrenched in fierce desperation, but the noise of the 
struggle brought Bates on deck. 

44 Give me a hand here, cap'n,” growled Van's assail- 
ant, who was no other than the redoubtable Smith. 
“I've caught that there Pedro sneakin' round the quar- 
ter ag’in.” 

Captain Bates clutched one of Van's arms, and 
despite the latter's furious struggles he was dragged in 
and quickly overpowered. 

“Why— what — this isn't Pedro?" exclaimed Captain 
Bates. Kneeling on Van's chest, while Smith deftly 
secured his ankles with a bit of seizing stuff, Bates 
passed his hand over the captive's face. 44 Bring a deck 
lantern aft, one of you — d’ye hear?" 

44 By — the — livin'— Jingo— if— it isn't that young Bris- 
coe ! *' gasped the dwarfed sailor, as the yellow glare of 
the lantern was flashed in Van's face. Captain Bates 
himself uttered an ejaculation of amazement, as the 
captive, pale but undaunted, returned the lowering gaze 
of the half dozen desperadoes who were crowded about 
him. 


222 


VAN. 


“ There’s no boat alongside, and he's dry, so he 
couldn’t V swum, muttered Smith, with a puzzled look 
over the rail. 

A light puff of air suddenly struck Van’s cheek, and 
at the same moment the deep rumble of thunder seemed 
to jar the density of the atmosphere. 

“ Never mind him now — hustle him under the hatches 
— quick ! ” shouted Captain Bates, springing to his 
feet. 

Without the slightest ceremony Van was dragged 
along the main deck. One of the hatches being taken 
off, he was dropped below on a pile of old sails, and 
the hatch and hatch bar replaced. 

Then the sound of orders in quick succession, followed 
by rapid footsteps and hoarse cries, told of sail shorten- 
ing in a hurry. 

All at once a lurid bluish sheet of tropic lightning, 
penetrating the interstices between the hatches, lit up 
the dark interior of the hold. 

By its momentary glare Van saw crouched about him 
the dusky forms of ten or twelve half-naked, dark- 
skinned men, whose eyes were fixed upon him with a 
sort of glitteringintensity that was by no means pleasant. 
And in the same instant he heard the clinking of what 
he knew must be wrist or ankle chains, as they seemed 
to make a simultaneous movement in his direction. 


VAN. 


99 ? 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

A THREATENED TRAGEDY. 

At the close of the last chapter, we were forced to 
leave Van Briscoe in the Rattler’s hold with a dozen 
stalwart natives in his immediate vicinity, whose inten- 
tions might or might not be friendly. 

This itself was bad enough, and in connection with 
the fact that his captors themselves would not be very 
likely to show him much mercy when he was finally 
brought on deck, it can easily be imagined that Van 
felt as though after favoring him in various ways Dame 
Fortune had suddenly turned and dealt him a slap in the 
face. 

“ Can any of you speak English ? ” he called, as the 
gloom was again momentarily illumined. 

“Me Krooboy some palaver — not good,” was the 
guttural reply from the one nearest him — a broad- 
shouldered black, less fierce in aspect than the others. 
“Who you live for, eh?” 

Now the Bellingham’s cabin boy was an intelligent 
young Kroo from the African coast, whose curious 
medley of “pigeon English ” had amused and interested 
Van at odd moments. 

And understanding the Krooman’s query as it was 
meant, Van hastily explained, as well as he could, how 




VAN. 


ne came to be in his present predicament, and that he 
was no less a prisoner than the rest This seemed t? 
be duly interpreted by the Kroo to the others. 

The black then went on to explain, in the extraor- 
dinary jargon used by this strange branch of the 
African race, and he himself had left an American 
whaler at the island of New Hebrides. With a few 
others he was kidnapped by Captain Phillips of the 
brig Allie Rowe, and afterwards transferred with eleven 
others, as we have seen, to the schooner Rattler, in 
exchange for provision. 

While the Kroo was thus explaining, the noise of the 
contending elements overhead grew louder and fiercer. 
The thunder peals had become almost deafening, and 
the flashes of lightning momentarily illumined every 
nook and crevice of the dungeon-like hold. 

Suddenly and without a moment's warning, the fury 
of the coming gale struck. 

Over went the schooner on her side, while the pile of 
old sails and the manacled prisoners went sliding to 
gether to leeward. 

That the Rattler had been thrown on her beam ends 
was self-evident, and it was a question for some little 
time in Van's mind whether she would be able to right 
herself. 

Luckily the bulk of the cargo amidships had been well 
stored, so that there wa3 no shiftage— in which case 
the schooner must have gone down for a certainty. 
Gradually she began to rise, and was put before the 
gale, as Van knew by her tremendous onrush through 
the seas, which had risen with inconceivable velocity. 

“Say, white fellow l n 


VAN. 


225 


It was the voice of the Krooman shouting in his ear 
— for the thunder of wind and sea, together with the 
straining and groaning of the schooner’s timbers, made 
an almost deafening uproar. 

As the black thus spoke, Van felt that the Krooman’s 
manacled hands were fumbling about his own tightly 
bound wrists, and then he discovered that the African’s 
sharp teeth were at work on the knots. 

“S’pose you untie dis,” said the Krooman, as he 
shook his own fetters angrily. “We black fellow fit to 
make waddy dem white mens on deck.” 

Now in the Kroo dialect “make waddy” has a wide 
range of signification. It may mean to dispose or to 
take care of, or several other things. 

The jingle of his wristlets, emphasizing his speech, 
suddenly suggested the jingle of keys he had heard in 
the cabin but a little before. And like lightning Van 
remembered something that he had not thought of until 
then. 

As is the case in most single hatch schooners, the 
after part of the Rattler’s hold could be entered through 
a trap or scuttle in the cabin floor. Van knew that in such 
a heavy blow all hands, both forward and aft, would 
be on deck. If he could reach the cabin and get the 
keys, the blacks could easily be released. And with 
their co-operation the schooner might again change 
hands. 

No sooner had this line of thought occurred to him, 
than Van proceeded to act upon it. Taking the stanch- 
ion post under the hatch combing as a starting point, 
he clambered to the top of the bales of dried sea slugs 
and similar delicacies composing part of the cargo* He 


226 


VAN. 


was followed, as he saw by a glimmering lightning 
flash, by the Kroo. 

His limited acquaintance with the Kroo dialect, and 
the fact that darkness made it impossible to help out his 
meaning by signs, prevented Van from trying to ex- 
plain his errand to the black, who was painfully worm- 
ing himself along at Van’s very heels. 

But Van of course knew that the movement was dic- 
tated by a distrust of his own motives, so he thought 
the better way would be to say nothing and let the 
black see for himself what he was after. 

The threads of light from the cabin lamp defined the 
square outline of the trap ; and, having reached it, Van 
softly pushed it up — the aperture being directly under 
the stationary table. 

Thrusting his head and shoulders through, Van saw 
that as he had suspected, the cabin, which was in dire 
confusion, was empty. He was about drawing himself 
up when the Kroo grasped him by the ankle. 

‘‘What for you live up dar?” he whispered, fiercely. 

Taking hold of the black’s handcuffs, Van tried to 
make him understand that he wished to release him, 
and partly succeeded. But the Kroo’s glittering eyes 
followed Van’s every movement, as, gaining the cabin, 
he steadied himself by the table and grasped the keys 
• — three in number — from a nail under the loud ticking 
marine clock. 

Then hearing some one coming he dropped to the 
floor and disappeared through the scuttle like an imp in 
a pantomime, closing the trap softly behind him. 

The Kroo gave a grunt of satisfaction at Van’s reap- 
pearance. But w T hen, fumbling about in the darkness, 


VAN. 


227 

Van succeeded in fitting one of the keys to the simple 
old fashioned spring lock hand and ankle cuffs, and 
set him free, the black uttered a positive yell of joy, 
which was fortunately drowned by the louder tumult of 
the warring elements. 

Snatching the keys from his liberator’s hands, the 
Kroo worked his own way back to his companions with 
marvelous rapidity, followed as fast as possible by Van, 
who was rather dismayed at this unexpected occurrence. 

In vain Van tried to explain to the Kroo his proposed 
plan of action, which was simply that as soon as the 
hatches were taken off to give the prisoners food or 
water, they were to rush on deck and overpower and 
bind the crew before they could recover from their sur- 
prise. 

“ We black fellows make waddy dem fellow on deck,” 
was the only response, and the excited chattering of 
the natives showed that they were -ripe for action. 

Once freed, however, the party did not immediately 
make any definite movement, but sat squatting round 
the Kroo in a circle as he addressed them volubly in 
their own language, paying no heed whatever to Van. 

As the hours passed on it became evident that the 
gale was abating, and the day dawn beginningto break. 
Thoroughly exhausted by all he had passed through, 
Van felt himself unable to keep his eyes open, and, re- 
gardless of his surroundings, stretched himself on the 
sails for a short nap. 

How long it continued, Van does not know. The 
first thing that awoke him was the noise of the hatches 
being taken off and thrown violently to the deck, while 
at the same moment a flood of sunlight, streaming on 
his upturned face, almost blinded him. 


22 8 


VAN 


Starting to a half sitting posture, and vaguely wonden> 
ing as he did so what had become of his dark-skinned 
companions in misery, ho looked up to see five or six 
men, among whom were Smith and Captain Bates, 
crowding about the hatch combings and gazing down 
at him with evident exultation. 

“ The nigs has stowed away furder for'ard. Havin' 
a chief amongst 'em makes 'em too high-toned to 'sociate 
with a white chap,'' said the dwarfed sailor, with a 
coarse laugh, which was echoed by the crew. 

“Now, Mr. Briscoe,” remarked Captain Bates with 
smooth suavity, “ if you will please step on deck there 
are a few questions ” 

An ear splitting yell, w’hich fairly made Van shiver, 
cut short the invitation. 

At the same moment a simultaneous cry of alarm 
from those about the open hatch was followed by a 
sudden scattering in every direction. 


VAN. 




CHAPTER XXXV. 

CAPTAIN VAN BRISCOE. 

The cause of the sudden commotion on the Rattler's 
deck was soon apparent 4 ‘ Handspikes, boys ! those 
black fiends have got loose ! ” hoarsely shouted Captain 
Bates, but the sound of a dull crashing blow, a groan, 
and then another chorus of yells told all too plainly of 
the terrible tragedy that was being enacted on deck. 

As well attempt to oppose one's unaided strength to 
the fury of a cyclone as to restrain a dozen infuriated 
savages from vengeance upon those who had dragged 
them from their island home to destine them to a life 
of captivity and suffering. 

It was the knowledge of this fact, and not any lack 
of courage on Van Briscoe's part, which made him 
thrust his fingers in his ears and bury his head in the 
folds of the canvas to shut out as far as possible the 
sounds of the contest above him. 

Thus he remained till a comparative quiet ensued. 
Resuming his former position, Van listened with a sort 
of sickening dread, but only the occasional monotone 
of a voice speaking in native dialect reached his ears. 
Above him was the blue sky flecked with clouds, and 
with every easy windward roll of the schooner, the 


VAN. 


230 

warm sunrays flashed into the damp interior of the hold. 

Summoning his fortitude to meet some terrible spec- 
tacle, Van caught the hatch combings with his hands 
and swung himself on deck. 

But his fears were groundless. The only signs of 
what had taken place were a few splashes of blood on 
the insides of the bulwarks, which the Kroo was indus- 
triously scrubbing with a deck broom, while the natives, 
squatted in the brilliant sunshine, were chattering vol- 
ubly with every evident appearance of ecstatic joy. 

As Van knew later, they had slipped through the 
hatch in the cabin floor while all hands were gathered 
about the forehatch. 

Then, arming themselves with clubs and heavers, 
they had made a sudden rush forward. How many fell 
before them Van could never find out But that the 
captain and Smith were the first victims he had good 
reason to believe. Two, and possibly three, were 
suffered to cut loose the boat from the stern davits and 
make good their escape. 

Van could see the distant boat rising and falling on 
the waves, but too far away to tell how many had 
escaped. 

“We make waddy some” was the only information 
he could obtain from the grinning crew, and as the boat 
itself was never heard from, the true facts of the tragedy 
will probably never be known till the sea gives up its 
dead. 

That the Bellingham was nowhere in sight did not 
surprise Van very much, as he knew that she had prob- 
ably been put before the gale on the previous night 

And what then ? 


VAN. 


231 


“S'pose white fellow palaver.” 

Gently touching Van's shoulder as he thus spoke, the 
Kroo, with a grin of significance in the direction of the 
distant boat, took a seat beside him on the house. 

“ We make waddy some white fellow,” he repeated, 
with a significant gesture, but he either would or could 
not understand Van's questioning and pantomime by 
which he tried to find out how many or who had been 
the victims. 

And now followed a long “palaver,” to use the word 
by which the Kroo managed to express so many dif- 
ferent meanings. Of course Van knew very well that 
the intent and purpose of the blacks would be to return 
to their own island of New Hebrides. 

Yet there were many obvious reasons why this plan 
could not be carried out. In the first place, Van knew 
that his duty was to take the schooner to San Francisco 
if possible, at all hazards, in order that his guardian 
might not only receive his long lost property, but also 
be relieved from additional anxiety as to the fate of Van 
himself. 

Then again he did not feel himself by any means 
competent to navigate the vessel among the intricacies 
of the South Sea Islands, and even had he been com- 
petent, how could he ever get away from New Hebrides 
without a proper crew, which he could not of course 
find there ? 

These, with other obstacles to such a course of action, 
which will readily occur to the reader, presented them- 
selves to Van's mind as he listened to the jargon of the 
Kroo, who interpreted his ov/n clumsy answers to the 
natives. 


VAN. 


232 

The nearest the black could come to the word 
“ island ” was “ land. ” Pointing to himself, then to the 
others, the Kroo finally evolved this rather peculiar 
proposition : 

“ S’pose you white feller cap’n um vessel. You sail 
we black feller for land — we go home.” 

Well, San Francisco was the nearest port, and from 
there the kidnapped natives could be sent back to New 
Hebrides in one of the many trading vessels to the 
South Seas. But it was not wisdom to go into detail, 
particularly as it would be impossible to make himself 
plain. 

So Van nodded. 

“You make me live captain — I take you to land,” he 
said quietly, and his reply being interpreted to the 
others, a universal hand clapping attested to their 
delight 

Like all the inhabitants of New Hebrides, they were 
tall and powerfully built, with strongly marked African 
features, that in repose showed no signs of the savage 
ferocity which characterizes the cannibal race. But 
what Van thought most of just then was their ability to 
become good sailors, for a wide expanse of ocean yet 
remained to be crossed. 

Before anything else was attended to, Van brought 
Captain Peterson’s sextant on deck in readiness for tak- 
ing the sun when its highest altitude should be attained 
With it he also brought the chart and log book for an 
examination. He easily ascertained the schooner’s 
whereabouts at the time she was becalmed the evening 
before — which was about 40 degrees north and 165 de- 
grees west, or about two thirds of the way across the 
Kcrth Pacific. 


FAAT. 


233 

Van’s movements were watched with almost super- 
stitious awe by the ignorant natives, especially when at 
high noon he took an altitude and figured up his reckon- 
ing, finding the schooner had run and drifted about 
seventy miles south of her supposed position. 

Van’s principal misgiving had been lest the Kroo, 
having learned something of practical seamanship on 
board the American whaler, might possibly question 
the easterly course which he was directed to steer, when, 
with considerable awkwardness on the part of his new 
crew, the schooner’s sails had been hoisted and the 
wheel spoke unbecketed. 

But he quickly saw there was no cause for fear on 
this score. Though the Kroo knew the points of com- 
pass to steer by, he knew nothing further. The chart 
was as much a sealed book to him as to the others. 

It need hardly be said that the awkwardness of try- 
ing to make this undisciplined crew understand by 
signs which ropes to pull or what sails to trim was at 
first terribly trying. 

But they were quick to comprehend, and, with the 
Kroo’s assistance, the principal ropes were pointed out 
and their names and uses learned before the sun had 
sunk below the ocean’s rim. 

Luckily for all concerned, the indications of sea, sky 
and barometer pointed to a season of fairly good 
weather. Van installed the Kroo as his chief officer, 
and divided the natives into watches. 

Most of them were still wearing the single garment 
of tappa cloth in which they were kidnapped, but this 
was soon remedied. In the little forecastle under deck 
was all the clothing belonging to the Rattler’s crew. 


234 


VAN. 


One by one the dusky warriors arrayed themselves in 
patched trousers and dingy shirts, invariably worn after 
the manner of a Chinese blouse, but head or foot cover- 
ing they did not require. 

It was nightfall when Van, leaving the Kroo at the 
wheel, with one of the younger natives who was learn- 
ing to steer, went below for a more thorough examina- 
tion of the cabin. 

Everything seemed to indicate that the spurious cap- 
tain of the Rattler must have been making considerable 
money, to judge from certain memoranda which Van 
found in the table drawer with the bills of lading. In 
the two trips the schooner had made since her capture, 
she had netted nearly six thousand dollars, and the 
cargo which she then carried bought, on account of 
“Captain Charles Bates and others,” was valued at 
nearly as much more. 

“ It looks to me as though all this money must be on 
board somewhere,” mused Van, after laying aside the 
memoranda and papers. 

And he was right. Under the head of the mattress 
in the captain's berth was Captain Peterson's tin trunk. 
Of the sum originally left by the captain, some two 
thousand dollars still remained, the balance having 
been expended in the purchase of the first freight. But 
with this were the profits I have alluded to, so that 
Captain Peterson's former property was considerably 
exceeded by the present gain. 

Further examination showed him that the pantry and 
store room were well stocked, and that the supply 
of water, if carefully husbanded, would last till they 
arrived. 


VAN. 


235 


With a very thankful heart, after a couple of hours’ 
much needed sleep, Van relieved his dusky lieutenant 
at the wheel, and at the same time took one of his own 
watch with him, to learn the mysteries of the compass. 

There were days of comparative calm, and blowy 
days ; there were drenching showers and chilling fogs, 
thunder tempests and sudden squalls, head winds and 
fair breezes. But no heavy gales were encountered. 
The crew grew quite expert, and Van himself picked up 
a good deal of the native dialect to add to his lingual 
accomplishments, as the days lengthened into weeks. 

But as it drew near the time when the headlands of 
the Golden Gate might begin to be watched for, Van 
began to feel decidedly nervous. 

How would his crew act when they discovered the 
deception that had been practiced, and found that 
instead of their native shores, they had reached the 
haunts of civilization ? And finally Van resolved to take 
the Kroo, who had become very strongly attached to 
him, into his confidence. 

Watching his opportunity, Van called the Kroo down 
into the cabin for a “ palaver,” for the two had not only 
grown better acquainted with each other, but with each 
other’s peculiarity of speech. 

Now some of the Rattler’s original cargo had been 
disposed of by her captors, either by exchange or sale— 
it was never known which. But in a small store room 
at the stern were a couple of boxes of merchandise in- 
tended specially for barter with the Indians of the Lower 
Amazon. Knives and hatchets, glass vases, gilt orna- 
ments, beads, fish hooks, cheap firearms, and a hundred 
similar articles were included in the assortment. 


VAN 


236 

Before bringing up the subject nearest his heart, Van 
opened one of the boxes, and displayed these treasures 
to the Kroo’s astonished and envious eyes. 

Then, as clearly as possible Van explained how he 
had deceived them, and why, and without giving the 
black time to express himself on the subject, Van went 
on to show him that in the country they were approach- 
ing, slavery or bondage such as had threatened them was 
unknown. 

Further Van assured his hearer, who began to listen 
with something like attention, that the entire party 
should be sent back to New Hebrides, taking with them 
the two boxes of wares, part of which the Kroo had 
seen, if they submitted to the inevitable with a good 
grace. 

And the upshot was, that after another long “ palaver,” 
aided by a display of the promised gifts, everything was 
made satisfactory, greatly to Van’s relief. 

Thanks to his training on board St Mary’s school ship, 
Van made his “landfall” with singular accuracy. And 
on a bright, breezy morning he took a pilot, who, ac- 
customed as he was to seeing all sorts and conditions of 
men on shipboard, opened his eyes very wide at the 
sight of the youthful commander and his curiously 
appareled crew of six Polynesians. 

The Bellingham had arrived full ten days previous. 
Yes — he — (the pilot) could give him a berth alongside 
her, as she had not begun loading. Wasn’t this white 
schooner the one suspected of being an opium smuggler 
— in fact, unsuccessfully searched for that contraband 
drug last voyage, when a Captain Bates had her ? 

This was news to Van, who returned a rather evasive 


VAN. 


2 37 

answer, and changed the subject as quickly as possi- 
ble. A fair wind hurried the Rattler up the beautiful 
bay, and when the sun rose on the following morning 
the white painted schooner was swinging at her moor- 
ings a pistol shot from the city wharves, and a cable’s 
length from the great four-masted American ship, Bel- 
lingham. 

And now Van Briscoe’s voyaging is over. All the sur- 
prise, amazement and delight felt by Captain Peterson 
at the recovery of his vessel and his adopted son, can — 
if I may be allowed to use the old expression — be better 
imagined than described. The good captain gladly 
undertook to carry out Van’s promise to his dark skin- 
ned crew, with all of whom he shook hands heartily 
before leaving the Rattler’s decks. 

A few days, stay in San Francisco to rest and recruit, 
and provide himself with a suitable wardrobe, and then 
Van Briscoe, bidding adieu to Captain Peterson till they 
met again, took his departure overland for the Eastern 
States in search of his treasures. 


VAN 


23S 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

don carlos’s birthday festival. 

That June, generally speaking, is the one perfect 
month known to our New England States, will be ad- 
mitted by the dwellers in that much abused climate. 

When Van Briscoe had left Boston nearly fifteen 
months before, the trees were barren of leaves, the sky 
of a leaden hue, and the bleak winds swirling clouds of 
dust from the frozen ground. 

When he returned to it, nature was smiling in her new 
summer dress. The trees were clad with foliage, the 
sky blue, and the winds, even if they were due east, 
cooled the atmosphere to just about the right degree of 
temperature. 

Don Carlos Flores was enjoying life to the utmost. 
The novel experience of a New England winter had had 
its drawbacks, despite the warmth and luxury of his 
handsome suite of rooms in an expensive flat, and his 
long, fur-lined coat and similar devices for getting the 
better of Jack Frost. 

But summer, with its manifold pleasures, was at hand, 
and Dan Carlos had blossomed out, so to speak, with 
the season. It was whispered that his wardrobe 
excelled that in which Mr. Berry Wall of New York 
delights his soul and displays his aesthetic tastes. 


VAN. 


*39 

He sported a dog-cart, a high-stepping horse with 
silver-mounted harness, a brass bound tiger, and a pug 
dog to keep the tiger company on the back seat. He 
was negotiating for a yacht, and was thinking over 
whom he had best invite for a cruise from among his 
extensive circle of friends. 

For Don Carlos Flores was said to be the youthful 
heir presumptive of an immensely wealthy Brazilian 
planter, who had sent his only son to America on a 
pleasure trip. And when in Boston or elsewhere did 
ever a young fellow with apparently unlimited means, 
and perfect willingness to spend them, ever want for 
real or pretended friends ? 

It sometimes seems to me as if there are no “ boys” 
in the higher circles of city society now-a-days. At 
fifteen they are full fledged young men — dressing like 
their older acquaintances, and, alas, too often imitating 
their vices. 

The fame of the “ young millionaire,” as Flores was 
often called, had spread among this class of whom I 
speak. I mean the over-dressed youths in their teens, 
who spend much of their time at pool and billiards, and 
who affect cigarettes and champagne cocktails. 

Unlike the majority of these, Don Carlos was his own 
master. His lavish expenditures, together with a style 
of living which was modeled after the manner of young 
men about town with abundant wealth in their own 
right, gave Don Carlos a certain prestige with those 
near his own age, who envied him such freedom of 
action and purse. 

On the evening of June 3, 1887, Don Carlos was 
giving a little “spread” at his rooms in honor of his 


VAtf. 


?40 

nineteenth birthday. The oldest person present was 
young Goldwin, who had just attained his majority, 
but one might have thought from the tone of conversa- 
tion and general bearing of the company, that all were 
thorough men of the world. 

After the several courses had been cleared away, a 
large bowl of punch was brought in, and the two wait- 
ers retired to the entry within sound of call. 

Don Flores, in full evening dress, sat at the head of 
the table. Large diamond studs glittered in his shirt 
front, rubies handsomely mounted served as cuff but- 
tons, while on the middle finger of his left hand he 
wore an opal the size of a Lima bean set in a heavy 
gold band. 

Yet though his rooms were furnished in the most 
sumptuous manner, while those present seemed to vie 
with each other to make the occasion one of gayety 
and mirth, Don Carlos’s handsome face, flushed with 
wine and excitement, wore a troubled look. 

He could not shake off the presentiment of evil. 
His mother’s sad face had appeared to him in his 
troubled dreams the night before; and her warning 
words rang in his ears above the laughter and jokes 
going on about him. 

“ Repent and make restitution while yet there is one 
more opportunity / ” 

This had been her warning, and Flores could not 
drown its remembrance. “One more opportunity.’' 
What did it all mean ? 

“ I’m actually growing nervous," muttered Don 
Carlos, stretching out his hand for his half emptied 
glass. 


VAN 


241 


“Why, Don Carlos, old chappie — what’s come to 
your opal ? ” cried a beardless young fellow at his 
right, touching the ring as he spoke. 

A sudden pallor crossed Flores’s handsome features 
as he glanced at the valuable gem. For the heart ot 
fire, which had shown out through the milky environ- 
ment, was no longer visible. Only a dull, opaque 
stone, without beauty or brilliancy, remained in the 
setting. 

“Sure sign of bad luck, donchuknow,” remarked 
young Goldwin, with tipsy gravity, as all eyes were 
bent upon the ring. “Guess the beu’ful Miss — Miss 
Briscoe’s thrown you over — eh, ol’ fellow?” 

Amid the chorus of laughter following this gentle- 
manly suggestion, no one noticed that the door behind 
the tall Japanese screen had been opened by a grinning 
waiter, who, pocketing a shining coin, silently ad- 
mitted some one, and softly closed the door again. 

“ Well,” returned Flores, nervously recovering him- 
self, as the laughter died away, “we’re all friends 
here, so I don’t mind telling you that nothing so bad 
as my friend Goldwin suggests has happened. In 
fact,” he continued, boastfully, “that my chances in 
that quarter are as good as they ever were, and the 
young lady herself is ready to say yes when ” 

“ Flores, that is false J ” 

The unexpected interruption came from Van Briscoe, 
who as he spoke, stepped quickly from behind the 
screen and confronted the astonished company. 


*43 


PAM 


CHAPTER XXX VIL 

CONCLUSION. 

Every person excepting Flores himself started to his 
feet. But all eyes were turned from the newcomer to 
the giver of the entertainment whose face was of ashy 
hue, as falling back in his chair, he stared in horrified 
silence at Van Briscoe. The latter, with folded arms, 
regarded him steadfastly. 

“Who the doose are you, intrudin' into a private 
room ? ” demanded young Goldwin, who prided himself 
on his muscle. Bristling up like a bantam cockerel, he 
stepped forward with outstretched hand to grasp the 
collar of the rash intruder. 

A moment later, the gilded youth was sent spinning 
half way across the room by what may be called a re- 
verse action, Van having seized his collar, before the 
other could accomplish his own intended purpose. 

“ Will you send away your visitors ? I want to speak 
to you alone, Flores," calmly remarked Van, as young 
Goldwin picked himself up and ruefully regarded his 
dress coat which was rent from the neck to the waist. 

Flores, whose white lips had moved once or twice 
though no sound had escaped them, pulled himself 
together. 

“I’m — I’m sorry," he said, helplessly, as he looked 


VAiV. 


243 

around at his astonished guests, “ but this gentleman and 
I have private business ” 

The hint was acted upon. One by one the company 
murmured ‘ 4 good-night, ” and filed out. As the last one 
disappeared, Van locked the door behind him. 

Indignant as he felt, Van was not without a feeling 
akin to pity for the discomfited young man before him, 
who, with a trembling hand, drained a glass of the 
strong compound still remaining in the bowl, as though 
to give him a fictitious courage for the coming interview. 

“We — I — thought you were dead, Van,” hoarsely 
began Flores, breaking the silence as he sat down the 
empty glass. 

“So I supposed,” was the deliberate reply, “when 
after you had paid the Indian for killing me — as you 
thought — with a poisoned arrow, you robbed me of my 
money belt containing my diamonds.” 

This was coming to the point with a vengeance. Pro- 
testation, pretended anger, excuses and lies died away 
on the young Brazilian’s guilty lips. 

“You — you can prove nothing,” he hoarsely whis- 
pered. 

“I do not wish to,” coolly replied Van, who had 
never removed his eyes from the blanched face before 
him. “That is,” he went on in a significant tone, 
“unless you refuse to do what is right.” 

“ Repent and make restitution while yet there is one more 
Opportunity. ” 

Was the warning actually whispered in his ear ? Or 
was it but the echo of a guilty conscience, repeating 
the words he had heard in his dreaming ? 

Flores glanced fearfully about him, and Van felt an 


244 


VAM, 


involuntary thrill as he became conscious that a faint 
breath of cool air had fanned his cheek. This was 
perhaps a passing zephyr from one of the long open 
windows, yet the night air without lay heavy and still. 

‘‘What do you want?” finally asked Flores in a 
constrained voice. 

“ Only what is my due — or at least as much of it as 
I can hope for after your spendthrift career that I have 
heard of from a dozen different quarters since arriving 
in town,” answered Van, shrugging his shoulders as he 
looked about the luxurious apartment. 

Well, there was no help for it With a sullen, low- 
ering face, Flores unlocked an elaborately carved desk, 
and produced a small steel strong box. From this he 
took the missing money belt, in which a goodly num- 
ber of Van's diamonds still remained, also some United 
States bonds, a thick roll of bills and a bank book 
representing a considerable sum. 

Flores could of course only make a very rough 
estimate of his expenditures, the amount of which in 
the short space of eight months, astonished even him- 
self. True, he had used something of his own means, 
but a few of Van’s largest diamonds were missing, and 
the value of these were made good as far as it was pos- 
sible to estimate it, by the money which Flores handed 
over. 

By how many thousand dollars Van was the loser, 
neither he, or — to do him justice — Flores himself knew, 
but it was no inconsiderable amount. Yet even as it 
was, the former found himself in the possession of 
what for so young a man might be called a handsome 
fortune, while Flores himself had a large balance 
remaining. 


VAN. 


24 $ 

Humbled and crestfallen to the last degree, Flores 
asked no questions as to Van’s strange and unexpected 
resurrection. All he seemed to desire was to get the 
business settled and close the door behind his unwel- 
come visitor. 

“And now,” he said sullenly, without lifting his eyes 
to Van’s face, as the latter secured his restored wealth 
inside his coat and buttoned it tightly about him, “now 
I suppose you will make the town too hot for me.” 

“ Do you think so badly of me as that?” was the 
calm response, and Flores looked up for the first time in 
astonishment 

“But you will tell — Ninada?” he said in a low 
tone. 

“ I cannot promise as to that, but if I do the secret 
will be safe with her for the sake of poor Mr. Briscoe, 
if for no other reason,” returned Van, after a little hesi- 
tation. 

“ Poor Mr. Briscoe ! ” echoed Flores. “ Why, didn’t 
you know that he escaped from Itambez after all, and 
reached the States a couple of months later than the 
rest of us ? ” 

Van uttered an exclamation of pleasure. 

“ I did not know it, for I only arrived in Boston this 
afternoon,” he said — and then there was a silence which 
was only broken by Van rising to his feet. 

“Flores,” he said, gravely, “though you attempted 
my life and have done me a great wrong, I hold no 
enmity against you. Indeed I forgive you freely. And 
I do wish,” he said, taking the unresisting hand of the 
young man, whose crimsoning face and downcast eyes 
proved that his sense of shame was not altogether lost, 


VAN. 


246 

“I do wish for your dead mother’s sake, Flores, that 
you would repent of your intended sin and lead a bet- 
ter life hereafter. ” 

Between repentance and being sorry for one’s wrong 
doing there is a considerable difference. Yet however 
this might have been in the case of Flores, it is certain 
that his eyes suddenly filled with unaccustomed tears, 
and in a rather broken voice he answered : 

“You are a thousand times better than I, Van Briscoe. 
I will try and do differently.” 

And these were the last words Van ever heard him 
speak. They silently shook hands and on the follow- 
ing morning it was rumored that Don Carlos had settled 
his bills and departed from the city without the formality 
of bidding adieu to his large circle of regretful friends 
and acquaintances. Beyond the fact that he was known 
to have bought a ticket to Chicago, his destination re- 
mained a mystery as it does to this day. And so passes 
the misguided young man from my story. 


“But somehow I cannot make it all seem true, 
Cousin Van,” said Ninada, who, more beautiful than 
ever, sat beside Van who held both her hands in his 
own. 

Mr. Richard Briscoe and Patty Peterson, who had 
listened to Van’s story, had stolen from the room to com- 
pare notes concerning it, leaving the two young people 
alone in the old-fashioned parlor of the Peterson home- 
stead, a few miles outside of Boston. 

“I find myself troubled the same way, Ninada," 
laughed the young man, but his voice was tremulous 


PAM 


34 7 


with repressed emotion, as his eyes watched every 
movement of the lovely, blushing face so nea* his own. 

But what was said after this, I have no means of 
knowing. Van’s journal and Van himself are equally 
silent on the subject. When Mr. Richard Briscoe came 
in half an hour later, they were sitting at opposite ends 
of the room, and as Van at once began talking very 
fast about his recent interview with Don Carlos Flores 
and its results, Miss Ninada had opportunity to regain 
her usual composure. 

It seemed that Mr. Briscoe had been enabled to secure 
a considerable portion of his own wealth before he es- 
caped from his dwelling, which ten minutes later was 
swallowed up in the general ruin. In company with 
Bob Martin and a number of others, he hastened on board 
a gondolita moored at the embankment, and they were 
borne out of danger by the swift current of the river, 
only reach Para after great peril and hardship. 

Tom the negro had been faithful to his trust, so that 
until her father appeared in his own person, Ninada had 
known nothing of the destruction of Itambez, and was 
thus spared the agonizing sorrow which the news of 
his supposed death would have caused her. 

Regarding Mr. Briscoe’s belief in the singular pre- 
dictions of the prophets of Itambez I have no comment 
whatever to make. It is sufficient to say that I know 
he was sincere in this belief as in that concerning the 
danger threatened Ninada at her sixteenth birthday. 
A great many wiser and better men than Mr. Briscoe, 
cherish equally peculiar fancies. In any event, he felt 
justified in sending his daughter away, and did so, 
and the events proved that he was wise in thus doing. 


248 


VAN. 


As for himself, I am sorry to say Mr. Briscoe is a 
fatalist, and so had remained behind with the majority 
of the Itambaz people till the destruction of the city 
was assured. Then, he very prudently got away as 
fast as possible. 

Well, my story is drawing to a close. Mr. Briscoe 
has bought a beautiful home not very far from the old 
Peterson homestead, and it is currently reported that 
he has asked Miss Martha Peterson, his former love, to 
share it ; this with the entire concurrence of his daugh- 
ter Ninada, who, never having known a mother’s love, 
naturally reciprocates Miss Peterson’s warm affection 
for herself. 

Mr. Briscoe is known simply as a wealthy American 
who, having spent several years in the far interior of 
Brazil, has returned to his native country to pass the 
rest of his life. Ninada is loved and admired by every 
one, and has became a most accomplished, but I am 
happy to say, not a fashionable lady. Manola and Tom 
are retained in the household, whose affairs, indeed, 
would hardly run smoothly without them, and Bob 
Martin is a frequent visitor. 

As for Van Briscoe, withwhom I have become quite 
intimately acquainted, he gives promise of an admirable 
manhood, and I feel confident will do great good with 
his wealth — for it is not impossible that some day in 
the near future he will be a very wealthy man, as Miss 
Ninada Briscoe herself is the presumptive heiress to a 
large property, to say nothing of riches inherited from 
her deceased mother which she brought away from 
Itambez with her. 

For as you may have guessed, Ninada and Van ars 


FAAT. 


249 

to be married in due time — an open secret known to a 
large circle of friends and acquaintances, among whom 
is Captain Josh Peterson, who is expected to arrive 
home in time for the wedding. 

And now having completed my own part of this 
narrative, it is with considerable satisfaction that I 
write the words— 









































































NOV 4 1901 





